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THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.." — Page iii. 



FAVORITE POEMS. 



SELECTED FROM 



ENGLISH AND AMERICAN AUTHORS. 



\ 

EllustratclJ bg 

GARRETT, GIFFORD, HAYDEN, SCHELL, MERRILL, TAYLOR, 
AND WOODWARD. 

^ fEngrabcU fag 

GEORGE T. ANDREW. 




NEW YORK: 
THOMAS Y. CROW ELL & CO., 

No. i^ AsTOR Place. 







Cofiyright, 

By T. Y. Crowell & Co. 

1S83. 




PREFACE. 



oHKc 



It lias been the object of the compiler, iu issuiug 
this volume, to unite a collectiou that will afford a well- 
selected variety for the lovers of poetr}^ aud form au 
appropriate present for all seasons aud occasions. Most 
of the selections are the brightest gems from American 
aud Euglish authors, aud will live as long as a love of 
the beautiful and the true spirit of poetry fiud au abidiug 
place in the human heart. It is submitted to the pub- 
lic, with the hope that it will be found to be an accept- 
able gift. 



CONTENTS. 



Pass 

Thk Spoils of Time Shakspeare 17 

Manfred's Soliloqut Byron 2C 

Jot and Sorrow Hedderivick 21 

Music of Nature Pierpont 22 

Remembrance Southey 23 

The Deserted Village Goldsmith 25 

Evening Milton 27 

The Daffodils Wordsworth 28 

Domestic Love Croly 2* 

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard. Gray 30 

The Burial of Sir John Moore Wolfe M 

Youth Scott 36 

The New Year Willis 37 

Forest Hymn Bryant 38 

Man's Life Crabbe 39 

Lycidas T.B. Aldrich. ... 40 

'Ti8 a Little Thing Talfourd 41 

Night Southey 42 

The Snow Storm Emerson 43 

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death. . . . Burns 41 

IIiAWiiTHA's ^VooiNG LongfeUoio 45 

A Bridal Melody J. T. Fields 54 

When I am Old Caroline A. Briggs. 55 

The Revellers Mrs. Hemans. ... 57 

Practical Charity Crabbe 59 



CONTENTS, 



The Faithful Dog Mrs. isigoumey. . . 60 

Exhortation to Courage, Shakspeare 61 

Country and Patriotism Bailey 62 

The Old Home Tennyson 63 

Nature Young 64 

Found Dead Albert Laighton. . . 68 

Only a Year Afrs. H. B. Stowe. . CA 

Long Life Kennedy 68 

Press On Park Benjamin. . . 6B 

Proposal Bayard Taylor. . . 70 

Raphael's Account of the Creatio v. . , . Milton 71 

Darkness Byron 78 

The True Aristocrat Stewart 76 

The Ship Southey 77 

The Old Man by the Brook Wordsworth 78 

The Bride Mrs. Sigourney. . , 7J 

The Common Lot Montgomery 81 

Twenty Years Ago Home Journal. ... S3 

The World's Wanderers Shelley 84 

Speak Gently Anon 85 

Waning Spirit Bailey 86 

Morning among the Hills Percival 87 

The Death Bed Hood 89 

My Darlings' Shoes Anon 90 

The Cotter's Saturday Night Burns 91 

Hajilet's Soliloquy Shakspeare 98 

Happiness Keble 99 

The Trumpet Mrs. Hemans. ... 100 

Ode on Cecilia's Day Vryden 101 

Skater's Song Anon 103 

On Lending a Punch Bowl O. W. Holmes. ... 101 

Song T. B. Aldrich. ... 107 

A Hundred Years Ago Anon 108 

The Lost Mexican City McLellan 10£ 

The Old Clock on the Stairs . Long/ellwo Ill 

Healing of the Daughter of Jairus. . . Willis 113 

The Seasons Orahame 115 



CONTENTS. 



Tub, Seasojjs Thomson 119 

Wedding Gifts Tupper lac 

Bring Flowers Mrs. Hemans. ... 121 

Solitude Byron 122 

FCR 'A THAT AND A' THAT BurnS 123 

Knowledge and Wisdom Cowper 124 

November Bryant 125 

The Primrose of the Kock Wordsworth 126 

Over the River Nancy A. W. Priest. 128 

" Fall of the Indian." McLellan 130 

When I am Dead Emma A. Browne. . 131 

Our Colors at Fort Sotiter Aldrich 132 

Two Hundred Years Pierpont 133 

One Heart's enough for Me Auguste Mignon. , . 134 

Address to the Comet Anon 135 

To A Poet who died of Want L. Filmore 137 

woman's Love Anon 138 

The Bridge of Sighs Hood 139 

The Poet dreamt of Heaven Anon 143 

On the Sea Bayard Taylor. . , 144 

The Soul Addison 145 

The Prayer of Nature Byron 146 

In Reverie H. McEwen Kimball. 148 

The Tempest James T. Fields. . . 149 

From " The Princess." Tennyson 160 

Joe Albert Laighton. . . 151 

The DviNG Alchemist Willis 153 

The Pleasures of Hope Campbell 157 

Junk Bryant 158 

The Tillage Preacher Goldsmith 159 

He Lives Long who Lives Well Randolph 161 

Fair Ines Hood 163 

The Graves of a Household ilrs. Hemans. ... 164 

Life Anon 160 

The Opening of the Pl\no Atlantic Monthly, . 166 

The Beautiful Burrington 168 

The Baby Anon IG^ 



10 CONTENTS. 



To A Friend VanielA, Drown. . 170 

Effect of Oratory on a Multitude. . . . Croly 171 

The Raven Edgar A. Poe. . ■ . 172 

Pleasures of Memory ifore 178 

Reflections Crabbe 179 

The Serenade Shelley 183 

Health E. C. Pinckney. . 184 

To THE Portrait of one " gone before." . A. M. Butterfield. . 186 

Angel of the Rain H. McEwen KimbaU. 186. 

Worldly Treasures Bailey 187 

The Death of the Flowers Bryant 188 

The Aurora Borealis H. F, Gould 190 

New England Anon 191 

The Pity of the Park Fountain Willis 192 

March of the Rebel Angels Milton 193 

The Sagamore P. B. Shillaber. . . 191 

The Beauties of Nature Burns 196 

The Famine Longfellow 196 

The Lady of the Earl , . . . . Anon 202 

MiGNON ASPIRING TO HEAVEN Goethe 20* 

The Hope of an Hereafter Campbell 206 

All is Vanity, saith the Preacher. . . . Byron 208 

On a Tear Rogers 207 

The Life Clock Anon 208 

Know Thyself Mrs. Sigonrney. . , 210 

O, NOT BY Graves W. B. Wallace. ... 212 

Something Cheap Charles Swain. ... 213 

Sweet Remembrances More 214 

Charity. , Anon 215 

Reliance on God Casket 216 

The Goblet Bayard Taylor, , , 218 

The Flowers Henry Bacon. . . . 221 

The Day is Done Longfellow 223 

Thoughts Bailey 224 

The Silent Multitude Mrs. Hemans. ... 226 

A Vision A. M. E. 2-26 

Lost Anon 228 



CONTEXTS. 11 

The Picket before Bull Edn John William Vay. . 229 

The Song of Sevextt Tupper. ...... 231 

Good and Betfep. Anon 233 

BuiLDixo UPON TUE SAND Eliza Cook 234 

Remembrance Percival 236 

Dedication of a Schoolhocse irises Louisa Simes. . 236 

The Angel in the House Anon 237 

The Province of Woman Hannah More. . . . i38 

Woman's Four Seasons Bailey 239 

Maud Muller Whittier 240 

eo^r to Live Bryant 244 

Advertisement of a Lost Day Mrs. Sigourney. . . 245 

The Wreck Mrs. Hemans. ... 246 

The Retreat from Moscow Anon 248 

Man was made to mourn Burns 249 

Unseen Spirits WilUs 252 

The true Measure of Life P.J. Bailey 253 

Flowers Thomas P. Mosf.s'. . 254 

Love's Philosophy Shelley 25( 

The Mountain Church Mrs. Gilman. ... 25" 

Sabbath Morning in the Country Bailey 258 

Make your Mark David Barker. ... 259 

Life's Morning, Noon, and Evening. , . . L. M. D 260 

Disasters Longfelloto 261 

Wealth is not Happiness Mrs. Norton 262 

The Charnel Ship L. M. Davidson. . . 263 

A Home to rest in Morford 265 

The Evening Sail Crabbe 266 

The Grave of Mrs. Judson Miss M. liemick, . . 268 

Happiness Pollok 269 

Tee Cornelian Byron 270 

God bless our Father Land O. IF. Holmes. ... 271 

Only one Life Anon 272 

The May Queen Alfred Tennyson. . 278 

Bonds of Affection London 278 

My Creed Alice Gary 279 

The Rose by the Wayside D.A. Droton. , . 280 



12 CONTENTS. 



From an Italian Sonnet Rogers iJ81 

T.ovK AND Reason More 282 

The Bride's Farewell Mrs. Hcmans. ... 284 

The DATS of Tore Douglas Thompson. 286 

The Path of Independence Anon 286 

A Picture B. P. Shillaber. . . 287 

An Acrostic I". A 289 

From the Merchant of Venice Shakspeare 29C 

The Poet Scott 291 

Illustration of a Picture. O. W. Holmes. . . . 29£ 

The Diver Mrs. Bemans. . . . 29J 

Through the Darkness William Winter. . , 29" 

Life and Death Ben Jonson 298 

The Country Lassie Anon 29t 

The Breeze in the Church Miss Hinxham, . . . 30t 

Ode on Art ^ . . . Sprague 302 

I Remember, 1 Remember.^ Hood 303 

Sensibility Rogers 304 

The Old and the New Year Anon 306 

Loved you better than you knew. . . . Atlantic Monthly. , 306 

Time and its Changes Bailey 308 

The Toast Scott 309 

Time Young 311 

The Heart's Fine Gold. W.O. Botirne, . . . 312 

The Old Fotj^s' Room Anon 313 

Elegt-Written in Spring Bruce 314 

The River Path Whittier. 316 

The Banquet Landon 318 

Time, Hope, and Memory Hood 319 

Little Rose Blackwood's Mag. . 320 

Poesy O.W. Holmes. ... 322 

Advice xo a Reckless Youth Ben Jonson 323 

Good Counsail Geoffrey Chaucer. . 324 

Freedom John Barbour. ... 325 

The M-nistry of Angels Spenser. ...... 326 

The Pleasures of Heaven Ben Jons<m 327 



CONTEXTS. 13 

To Blossoms Robert Herrick. . . 328 

Vertde George Herbert. . . 320 

Love Samuel Butler. . . . 33C 

Mariner's Hymn Mrs. Southey, . . . 331 

Peace George Herbert. . . 332 

Rule Britannia Thomson 334 

The Maid's Lament Landor 336 

Home Montgomery 337 

Address to the Ocean Procter 338 

Jeanie Morrison Wm. Motherwell. , 339 

The Exile's Song Robert GUfillan. . . 342 

Ten Years Ago Alaric Alex. Watts. 34!» 

We Met Thomas H. Bayly. . 344 

From "The Lays of Ancient Rome.". . . Macaulay 345 

Castles in the Air James Ballantine. . 347 

The Men of Old R. M. Milnes. ... 349 

Clear the Way Charles Mackay. . . 350 

From " Babe Christabel." Gerald Massey. . . 352 

The Grandmother Victor Hugo. ... 354 

The Skeleton in Armor Longfellow 357 

The Present Crisis Jas. Russell Lowell. 363 

Song of the Stars Bryant 369 

BiNGEN ON the Rhine Mrs. C. E. Norton. 371 

Love. — (Songs of Seven.) Jean Ingelow. ... 375 

Evelyn Hope Brouming 376 

GivisG IN Marriage,— (Songs of Seven.) Jean Ingel&w, ... 378 

The Children's Hour Longfellow 380 

Youth, that Pursuest R. M. Milnes. ... 382 

Among the Beautiful Pictures Alice Cary 383 

Each and All Emerson 384 

The Present Adelaide A. Procter. 386 

The Bells Edgar A, Poe. ... 388 

Rain in Summer Longfellow 392 

Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel Leigh Hunt 394 

The Inchcape Rock R. Southey 396 

The Rainbow. . . J. Keble 396 



14 CONTENTS. 



Only a Curl Mrs. Browning. . . 39S 

Douglas, Douglas, Tender and True, . . Dinah Maria Mulock. 402 

King Out, Wild Bells Tennyson 403 

Strive, Wait, and Pray Adelaide A. Procter. 401 

Break, Break, Break Tennyson 406 

The Gifts of God Oeorge Herbert, . . 406 

Incompleteness Adelaide A. Procter. 407 

The Return of Youth Bryant 408 

Labor and Rest Dinah Maria Mulock. ilO 

The Sands o' Dee C. Kingsley. . . , . 411 

The Wreck of the Hesperus.. Longfellow 412 

The Summer Shower T.B.Read 410 

The Old Man's Comforts R. Southey 417 

Autumn P. B. Shelley. ... 418 

To Daffodils E. Herrick 419 

The Fountain Jas, Russell Lowell. 420 

The Noble Nature B.Jonson 422 

Life's "Good Morning." Anna L. Barbauld. , 422 

Haste Not ! Rest Not ! Goethe 423 

Bringing our Sheaves with Us Elizabeth Akers. . . 424 

The Chambered Nautilus Oliver W. Holmes. . 425 

The Old World and the New George Berkeley. . . 427 

A Strip of Blue Lucy Larcotn. . . . 428 

Song R. M. Milnes. ... 431 

John Burns of Gettysburg Bret Harte 432 

Questions of the Hour Sarah M. B. Piatt, . 436 

The Doorstep E.C. Stedman. ... 438 

Larv£ Mrs. Whitney. , , . 440 

Spinning Helen Fiske Hunt, . 441 

Babie Bell T.B. Aldrich. ... 442 

Bust of Dante Thos. W. Parsons. . 446 



^Si.^J^^^'^V^EV 




N immortal instinct, deep within the spirit of ir.an, 
is a sense of the Beautiful. This it is which ad- 
ministers to his delight in the manifold forms, 
and sounds, and perfumes, and sentiments, amid 
which he exists. And just as the lily is repeated 
in the lake, or the eyes of Amaryllis in the mirror, 
so is the mere oral or \vritten repetition of these 
forms, and sounds, and colors, and perfumes, and senti- 
ments, a duplicate source of delight. But this mere repeti- 
tion is not poetry. He who shall simply sing, with however 
glowing enthusiasm, or with however vivid a truth of de- 
scription, of the sights, and sounds, and perfumes, and col- 
ors, and sentiments which greet him in common with all 
mankind — he, I say, has yet faUed to prove his divine title. 
There is still a something in th§ distance which he has 
been unable to attain : we have stUl a thirst unquenchable, 
to allay which he has not shown us the crystal springs. 
This thirst belongs to the immortality of Man. It is at 
once a consequence and an indication of his perennial 
existence. It is the desire of the moth for the star. It is 
no mere appreciation of the beauty before us, but a wild 
effort to reach the beauty above. Inspired by an ecstatic 
prescience of the glories beyond the grave, we struggle, by 



16 THE POETIC PRINCIPLE. 

mwltiform combinations among the things and thoughts 
of time, to attain a portion of that loveliness whose very 
elements, perhaps, appertain to eternity alone. And thus 
when by poetry, or when by music — the most entrancing 
of the poetic moods — we find ourselves melted into tears 
— we weep then, not as the Abbate Gravina supposes, 
through excess of pleasure, but through a certain petulant, 
impatient sorrow at our inability to grasp noiw wholly, here 
on earth, at once and forever, those divine and rapturous 
joys, of which through the poem, or through the music, we 
attain to but brief and indeterminate glimpses. 

The struggle to apprehend the supernal loveliness — 
this struggle, on the part of souls fittingly constituted — 
has given to the world aU that which it (the world) has 
ever been enabled at once to understand and to feel as 
poetic. 

The Poetic Sentiment, of course, may develop itself in 
various modes — in painting, in sculpture, in architecture, 
in the dance — very especially in music — and very pecu- 
liarly, and with a wide field, in the composition of the 
Landscape Garden. It is in music, perhaps, that the soul 
most nearly attains the great end for which, when inspired 
by the poetic sentiment, it struggles — the creation of 
supernatural beauty. It may be, indeed, that here this 
gublime end is, now and then, attained in fact. We are 
often made to feel, with a shivering delight, that from an 
earthly harp are stricken notes which cannot have been 
familiar to the angels. And thus there can be little doubt 
that in the union of poetry with music, in its popular 
sense, we shall find the widest field for the poetic devel- 
opment. 



BhaJcesjzeare. 



^ HERE art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long 
: ^ To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? 
Pt^^ Send' St thou thy fury on some worthless song. 
Darkening thy power, to lend base subjects 
light > 
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem 
In gentle numbers time so idly spent ; 
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem. 

And gives thy pen both skill and argument. 
Rise, restive Muse, my love's sweet face survey, 

If Time have any wrinkle graven there ; 
If any, be a satire to decay, 

And make Time's spoils despised every where. 
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life ; 
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife. 

What's in the brain that ink may character. 

Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit ? 
What's new to speak, what now to register, 

That may express my love, or thy dear merit ? 
Nothing, sweet boy ; but yet, like prayers divine 

I must each day say o'er the very same ; 
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine ; 

Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name. 
So that eternal love in love's fresh case 

Weighs not the dust and injury of age, 



18 THE SPOILS OF TIME. 

No/ gives to necessary wrinkles place, 

But makes antiquity for aye his page ; 
Finding the first conceit of love there bred, 
Where time and outward form would show it dead 

If there be nothing new, but that which is 

. Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, 

Which laboring for invention bear amiss 

The second burden of a former child ! 
O that record could with a backward look. 

Even of five hundred courses of the sun, 
Show me your image in some antique book 

Since mind at first in character was done ! 
That I might see what the old world could say 

To this composed wonder of your frame ; 
Whether we are mended, or whe'r better they, 

Or whether revolution be the same. 
O ! sure I am, the wits of former days 
To subjects worse have given admiring praise. 

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore. 

So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
Each changing place with that which goes before, 

In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 
Nativity, once in the main of light. 

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned. 
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight. 

And Time, that gave, doth now his gift coufound. 
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, 

And delves the parallels in beauty's brow ; 
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth. 

And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. 



THE SPOILS OF TIME. 19 

And yet, to times in tope, my verse shall stand. 
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 

The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age ; 
When sometimes lofty towers I see down-razed. 

And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage ; 
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 

Advantage on the kingdom of the shore. 
And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main. 

Increasing store with loss, and loss with store ; 
When I have seen such interchange of state, 

Or state itself confounded to decay ; 
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate : — 

That time will come and take my love away. 
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, 

But sad mortality o'ersways their power. 
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea. 

Whose action is no stronger than a flower ? 
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out 

Against the wreckful siege of battering days. 
When rocks impregnable are not so stout. 

Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ? 
O, fearful meditation ! where, alack ! 

Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid 
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back ? 

Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? 
O, none — unless this miracle have might. 
That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 



20 Manfred's soliloquy, 







HE stars are forth, the moon above the tops 
Of the snow-shining mountains. — Beautiful ! 
I linger yet with Nature, for the night 
Hath been to me a more familiar face 
Than that of man ; and in her starry shade 
Of dim and solitary loveliness, 
I learned the language of another world. 
I do remember me, that in my youth. 
When I was wandering, — upon such a night 
I stood within the Coliseum's wall, 
'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome ; 
The trees which grew along the broken arches 
Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the star 
Shone through the rents of ruin ; from afar 
The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber ; and 
More near from out the Caesars' palace came 
The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly. 
Of distant sentinels the fitful song 
Begun and died upon the gentle wind. 
Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach 
A-ppeared to skirt th' horizon, yet they stood 
Within a bowshot — where the Caesars dwelt. 
And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst 
A grove which springs through levelled battlements 
And twines its roots with the imperial hearths : 
Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth ; — 



JOY AND SORROW. 21 

But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands, 

A noble ^^Teck in ruinous perfection ! 

While Caesars' chambers and the Augustan halls 

Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. — 

And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon 

All this, and cast a wide and tender light. 

Which softened down the hoar a'usterity 

Of rugged desolation, and filled up, 

As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries. 

Leaving that beautiful which still was so. 

And making that which was not, till the place 

Became religion, and the heart ran o'er 

With silent worship of the great of old ! — 

The dead, bv t sceptred sovereigns, who still rule 

Our spirits from their urns. — 'Twas such a night 

'Tis strange that I recall it at this time ; 

But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight 

E'en at the moment when they should array 

Themselves in pensive order. 



SeddeT-wiah. 



HE gayest hours trip lightly by. 

And leave the faintest trace ; 
But the deep, deep track that sorrow wears 

Time never can efface. 




^2 MUSIC OF NATURE. 



of latwa. 

(Pie-/j:ont. 




N what rich harmony, what polished lays. 
Should man address thy throne, when Nature pays 
Her wild, her tuneful tribute to the sky ! 
^ "" Yes, Lord, she sings thee, but she knows not why. 
The fountain's gush, the long-respondiiig shore, 
The zephyr's Avhisper, and the tempest's roar. 
The rustling leaf, in autumn's fading woods. 
The wintry storm, the rush of vernal floods. 
The summer bower, by cooling breezes fanned. 
The torrent's fall, by dancing rainbows spanned. 
The streamlet, gurgling through its rocky glen. 
The long grass, sighing o'er the graves of men. 
The bird that crests yon dew-bespangled tree. 
Shakes his bright plumes, and trills his descant free, 
The scorching bolt, that, from thine armory hurled, 
Burns its red path, and cleaves a shrinking world, — 
All these are music to Religion's ear : — 
Music, thy hand awakes, for man to hear. 




KEMEJIBRAXCE. 23 




tiujbthei). 

AN bath a weary pilgrimage, 
=^ As through the world he wends ; 
A^ On every stage from youth to age 
Still discontent attends ; 
With heaviness he casts his eye 

Upon the road before, 
And still remembers with a sigh 
The days that are no more. 

To school the little exile goes, 

Torn from his mother's arms, — 
What then shall soothe his earliest woes. 

When novelty hath lost its charms ? 
Condemned to suffer through the day 
Restraints which no rewards repay. 

And cares where love has no concern, 
Hope lengthens as she counts the hours 

Before his wished return. 
From hard control and t}Tant rules, 
The unfeeling discipline of schools. 

In tnought he loves to roam. 
And tears will struggle in his eye 
While ne remembers with a sigh 

The comforts of his home. 

Youth comes ; the toils and cares of life 
Torment the restless mind ; 



24 REMEMBRANCE. 



Where shall the tired and harassed heart 

Its consolation find ? 
Then is not Youth, as Fancy tells, 

Life's summer prime of joy ? 
Ah, no ! for hopes too long delayed, 
And feelings blasted or betrayed, 

Its ftibled bliss destroy ; 
And Youth remembers with a sigh 
The careless days of Infancy. 

ivlaturer Manhood now arrives, 

And other thoughts come on, 
But with the baseless hopes of Youth 

Its generous warmth is gone ; 
Cold, calculating cares succeed, 
The timid thought, the wary deed. 

The dull realities of truth ; 
Back on the past he turns his eye. 
Remembering with an envious sigh 

The happy dreams of Youth. 

So reaches he the latter stage 
Of this our mortal pilgrimage, 

With feeble step and slow ; 
New ills that latter stage await. 
And old Experience learns too Jate 

That all is vanity below. 
Life's vain delusions are gone by^ 

Its idle hopes are o'er ; 
Yet Age remembers with a sigh 

The days that are no more. 




THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 25 



G-oldsrrbith. 

IWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, 
Where health and plenty cheered the laboring 

swain, 
) Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, 
And parting summer's lingering bloom* delayed. 
Dear, lovely bowers of innocence and ease. 
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, 
How often have I loitered o'er thy green, 
Where humble happiness endeared each scene ! 
How often have I paused on every charm, — 
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm. 
The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 
The decent church that topped the neighboring hill, 
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shad*- 
For talking age, and whispering lovers made ! 

How often have I blessed the coming day, 
When toil remitting lent its aid to play, 
And all the village train, trom labor free. 
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree ' 
While many a pastime circled in the shade, — 
The young, contending, as the old surveyed ; 
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground. 
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round. 

Sweet, smiling village, loveliest of the lawn ; 
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; 



26 THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 

Amid thy bowers, the tyrant's hand is seen, 

And desolation saddens all thy green : 

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 

But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way ; 

Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 

The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest. 

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ; 
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ; 
A breath can make them, as a breath has made ; 
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride. 
When once destroyed, can never be supplied. 

Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour, 
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 
Here, as I take my solitary rounds. 
Amid thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 
And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train. 
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 

In all my wanderings round this world of care. 
In all my griefs, — and God has given my share, — 
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 
Amid these humble bowers to lay me down ; 
To husband out life's taper at the close. 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose : 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 
Here to return, — and die at home at last. 

O blest retirement ! friend to life's decline. 
Retreat from care, that never must be mine. 
How blessed is he who crowns, in shades like these, 
. A youth of labor with an age of ease ; 



EVENING. 27 

Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! 
So on he moves to meet his latter end. 
Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; 
Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, 
While resignation gently slopes the way ; 
And, all his prospects brightening to the last. 
His heaven commences ere the world be past. 




Jdilton's " (Paradise Lost. 



OW came still Evening on, and Twilight gray 
Had in her sober livery all things clad. 
Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird. 
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, 
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale ; 
She all night long her amorous descant sung ; 
Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmament 
With living sapphires : Hesperus, that led 
The starry host, rode brightest ; till the moon. 
Rising in clouded majesty, at length 
Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light. 
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. 



28 



THE DAFFODILS. 




WordsvjoHh. 

WANDERED lonely as a cloud 
That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
When all at once I saw a crowd, 

A host of golden dafibdils, 
Beside the lake, beside the trees, 
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 

And twinkle on the milky way, 
They stretched in never-ending line 

Along the margin of a bay ; 
Ten thousand saw I at a glance. 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; — 

A poet could not but be gay. 
In such a jocund company ; 

I gazed, and gazed, but little thought 

What wealth that show to me had brought. 

For oft when on my couch I lie. 

In vacant or in pensive mood. 
They flash upon that inward eye 

Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils. 



DOIVIESTIC LOVE. 29 




Croly. 



OMESTIC love ! not in proud palace halls 

Is often seen thy beauty to abide ; 
Thy dwelling is in lowly cottage walls, 

That in the thickets of the woodbine hide ; 
With hum of bees around, and from the side 
Of woody hills some little bubbling spring, 
Shining along through banks with harebell? 
dyed. 
And many a bird, to warble on the wing, 
When Morn her saffron robe o'er heaven and earth 
doth fling. 

O love of loves ! to thy white hand is given 

Of earthly happiness the golden key ; 
rhine are the joyous hours of winter's even. 

When the babes cling around their father's knee; 

And thine the voice that on the midnight sea 
Melts the rude mariner with thoughts of home. 

Peopling the gloom with all he longs to see. 
Spirit ! I've built a shrine ; and thou hast come, 
And on its altar closed — forever closed thy plume ! 



30 gray's elegy. 




Gray. 



HE curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; 

The lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea ; 
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight. 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; — 

Save th-.t, from yonder ivy-mantled tower. 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

Tiie breezy call of incense-breathing morn. 

The swallow, twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 



H W 



C ft. 




gray's elegy. 31 



Nor children run to lisp their sire's return. 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield ; 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! 

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

Await, alike, the inevitable hour ; — 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 

Where, through the long-drawn aisle, and fretted vault, 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn, or animated bust. 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 

Can Honor's voice provoke the sileut dust, 

Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? 

Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid 

Some heart, once pregnant with celestial fire ; 

Hands, that the rod of empire might have swayed. 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 



32 gray's elegy. 



But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 

Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem, of purest ray serene. 

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast^ 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 

Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest ; 
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 

The applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 

The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame, 

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
Theii sober wishes never learned to stray : 



okay's elegy, 



33 



Along the cool, sequestered vale of life, 
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet, e'en these bones from insult to protect, 

Some frail memorial, still erected nigh, 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelled by the unlettered Muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey. 

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, — 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, — 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies ; 

Some pious drops the closing eye requires : 
E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 

E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonored dead. 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 

If, chance, by lonely Contemplation led. 
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 

Haply, some hoary-headed swain may say, 
" Oft have we seen him, at tne peep of dawu, 

Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 



34 gray's elegy. 



" Tnere, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high, 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch. 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

** Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn, 
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ; 

Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, 

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 

" One morn I missed him on the accustomed hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favorite tree : 

Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he. 

" The next, with dirges due, in sad array. 

Slow through the church way path we saw him borue. 

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 



Ihe Epitaph. 



Heve rests his head upon the lap of earth 
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown : 

Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, 
And Melancholy marked him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere : 
Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 

He gave to misery all he had — a tear : — 

He gained from Heaven — 'twas all he wished — a friend 



THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 35 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, - 

(There they, alike, in trembling hope, repose,) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 




TM Banal @f Eir lohm Moor©. 

Wolfe. 

OT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our Hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly ; at dead of night ; 
The sods with our bayonets turning. 
By the struggling moon-beams' misty light. 
And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast. 

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; 
Eut he lay like a warrior taking his rest. 

With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 
And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 

But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, 
And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 



36 YOUTH. 

We thought — as we hollowed his narrow bed, 
And smoothed down his lonely pillow — 

How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his headi 
And we far away on the billow ! 

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 

But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 
In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done, 

When the clock tolled the hour for i-etiriug, 

And we heard the distant and random gun, 
That the foe was sullenly firing. — 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory. 

We carved not a line, we raised not a stone. 
But left him — alone with his glory ! 




Soott. 



HE Tear down Childhood's cheek that flows, 
Is like the dew-drop on the Rose ; 
When next the Summer breeze comes by. 
And waves the bush, the Flower is dry. 



THE NEW YEAPw 37 



fU lew Y©ap. 

WUlis. 



uyfr^LEEThY hath passed the year ; the seasons came 
\s|JI ^Duly as they were wont, — the gentle Spring, 
And ';he delicious Summer, and the cool 
Rich Autumn, with the nodding of the grain. 
And Winter, like an old and hoary man, 
Frosty and stiff, — and so are chronicled. 
We have read gladness in the new green leaf, 
And in the first-blown violets ; we have drunk 
Cool water from the rock, and in the shade 
Sunk to the noontide slumber ; we have plucked 
The mellow fruitage of the bending tree. 
And girded to our pleasant wanderings 
When the cool winds came freshly from the hills; 
And when the tinting of the Autumn leaves 
Had faded from its glory, we have sat 
By the good fires of Winter, and rejoiced 
Over the fulness of the gathered sheaf. 

" God hath been very good." 'Tis He whose hand 
Moulded the sunny hills, and hollowed out 
The shelter of the valleys, and doth keep 
The fountains in their secret places cool ; 
And it is He who leadeth up the sun, 
And ordereth the starry influences. 
And tempereth the keenness of the frost ; 
And, therefore, in the plenty of the feast, 
And in the lifting of the cup, let Him 
Have praises for the well-completed year. 



38 FOREST IIYMX. 




forest lYma. 



HE groves were God's first temples. Kre maa 

learned 
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 
I And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed 
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back 
The sound of anthems, — in the darkling wood. 
Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down 
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
And supplication. Let me, then, at least, 
Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, 
Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find 
Acceptance in his ear. 

Father, thy hand 
Hath reared these venerable columns ; thou 
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down 
Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They in thy sun 
Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, 
And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow 
Whose birth was in the tops, grew old and died 
Among their branches, — till, at last, they stood, 
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, 
Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold 
Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, 
These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride 
Report not. No fantastic carvings show 




■ The groves were God's first temples." — Page 38. 



MAX S IJFE. 



The joast of our vain race to change the form 
Of thy fair works. But thou art there ; thou fill'st 
The solitude ; thou art in the soft winds 
That run along the summit of these trees 
In music ; thou art in the cooler breath, 
That, from the inmost darkness of the place. 
Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, 
The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with thee. 




Maa*s Life. 

Grahhe. 

,jjS) INUTELY trace man's life ; year after year, 
^ U Through all his days let all his deeds appear, 
■^.lUAnd then, though some may in that life be 
strange, 
Yet there appears no vast nor sudden change : 
The links that bind those various deeds are seen ; 
And no mysterious void is left between. 
But let these binding links be all destroyed. 
All that through years he suffered or enjoyed. 
Let that vast gap be made, and then behold — 
This was the youth, and he is thus when old ; 
Then we at once the work of time survey. 
And in an instant see a life's decay. 



40 LYCIDAS. 




ST. ^. Jlldricti. 



WALKED with him one melancholy night 
Down by the sea, upon the moon-lit strands, 
While in the silent heaven the Northern Light 
Beckoned me with flaming hands ! — 



Beckoned and vanished, like a woful ghost 
That fain would lure us to some dismal wood, 
And tell us tales of ships that have been lost, 
Of violence and blood. 

And where yon daedal rocks o'erhang the froth, 

We sat together, Lycidas and I, 
Watching the great star-bear that in the North 

Guarded the midnight sky. 

And while the moonlight wrought its miracles. 
Drenching the world with silent silver rain. 

He spoke of life and its tumultuous ills ; 
He told me of his pain. 

He said his life was like the troubled sea 
With autumn brooding over it ; and then 

Spoke of his hopes, of what he yearned to be, 
And what he might have been. 

' I hope," said Lycidas, " for peace at last ; 
I only ask for peace ! my god is Ease ! 



'tis a little TinXG. 41 



Day after day some rude Iconoclast 

Breaks all my images. 

« There is a better life than I have known — 
A surer, purer,- sweeter life than this : 

There is another, a celestial zone, 
Where I shall know of bliss." 

IJlose his sad eyes and cross his helpless hands, 
And lay the flowers he loved upon his breast ; 

For time and death have stayed the golden sands 
That ran with such unrest. 

You weep : I smile : I know that he is dead ; 

So is his passion ; and 'tis better so : 
Take him, O earth, and round his lovely head 

Let countless roses blow . 




'TIS a 

O give a cup of water ; yet its draught 
Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, 
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame 
More exquisite than when nectarian juice 
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours. 
It is a little thing to speak a phrase 
Of common comfort, which by daily use 



42 



Has almost lost its sense ; yet on the ear 

Of him who thought to die unrenowned, 'twill full 

Like choicest music ; fill the glazing eye 

With gentle tears ; relax the knotted hand 

To know the bonds of fellowship again ; 

And shed on the departing soul a sense, 

(More precious than the benison of friends 

About the honored death bed of the rich,) 

To him who else were lonely, that another 

Of the great family is near and feels 




Southey. 



OW beautiful is night ! 

A dewy freshness fills the silent air ; 

No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain 

Breaks the serene of heaven ; 

In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine 

Rolls through the dark-blue depths. 

Beneath her steady ray 

The desert-circle spreads 

Like the ocean girdled with the sky. 

How beautiful is night ! 




THE SNOW STORM. 43 



Etnerson. 



NNOUNCED by all the trumpets of the sky, 
Arrives the snow, and driving o'er the fields. 
Seems nowhere to alight ; the whited air . 
'^ff\ Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, 
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm. 
Come, see the north wind's masonry ! 
Out of an unseen quarry, evermore 
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 
Curves his wliite bastions, with projected roof, 
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door ; 
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work, 
So fanciful, so savage ; nought cares he 
For number or proportion ; mockingly, 
On coop or kennel, he hangs Parian wreaths ; 
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn. 
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to Avail, 
Maugre the farmer's sighs ; and, at the gate, 
A tapering turret overtops the work ; 
And Avhen his hours are numbered, and the world 
Is all his own, returning, as he were not, 
Leaves, Avhen the sun appears, astonished Art 
To mimic in slow structure, stone by stone, 
Built in an age, the mad wind's night work, 
The frolic architecture of the snow. 




44 A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 



fjwns. 



THOU unknown, Almighty Cause 
Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour. 
Perhaps I must appear ! 



If I have wandered in those paths 
Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something, loudly, in my breast 
Remonstrates I have done, — 

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me 
With passions wild and strong ; 

And list'ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty steps aside, 
Do thou, All-Good ! — for such thou art- 

In shades of darkness hide. 

"WTiere with intention I have erred, 

No other plea I have. 
But, Thou art good ; and goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



Hiawatha's wooing. 45 



Xjongfellozo. 




S unto the bow the cord is, 
So unto the man is woman ; 
Though she bends him, she obeys him, 
Though she draws him, yet she follows, 
Useless each without the other ! " 
Thus the youthful Hiawatha 
Said within himself and pondered. 
Much perplexed by various feelings, 
Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, 
Dreaming still of Minnehaha, 
Of the lovely Laughing Water, 
In the land of the Dacotahs. 

" Wed a maiden of your people," 
Warning said the old Nokomis ; 
*' Go not eastward, go not westward, 
For a stranger, whom we know not ! 
Like a fire upon the hearthstone 
Is a neighbor's homely daughter, 
Like the starlight or the moonlight 
Is the handsomest of strangers ! " 

Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, 
And my Hiawatha answered 
Only this : " Dear old Nokomis, 
Very pleasant is the firelight. 
But I like the starlight better, 
Better do I like the moonlight ! " 



46 Hiawatha's wooing. 

Gravely then said old Nokomis : 
" Bring not here an idle maiden, 
Bring not here a useless woman. 
Hands unskilful, feet unwilling ? 
Bring a wife with nimble flngei i, 
Heart and hand that move together, 
Feet that run on willing erranJa ! " 

Smiling answered Hiawatha : 
" In the land of the Dacotahs 
Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Handsomest of all the women. 
I will bring her to your wigwam, 
She shall run upon your errands, 
Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, 
Be the sunlight of my people ! " 
Still dissuading said Nokomis : 
" Bring not to my lodge a stranger 
From the land of the Dacotahs ! 
Very fierce are the Dacotahs ; 
Often is there war between us ; 
There are feuds yet unforgctten. 
Wounds that ache and still may open ! " 

Laughing, answered Hiawatha : 
*' For that reason, if no other. 
Would I wed the fair Dacotah, 
That our tribes might be united, 
That old feuds might be forgotten. 
And old wounds be healed forever ! " 

Thus departed Hiawatha 
To the land of the Dacotahs, 



Hiawatha's wooixg. 47 



To the land of handsome women ; 
Striding: over moor and meadow. 
Throuph interminable forests. 
Through uninterrupted silence. 

With his moccasons of magic, 
At each stride a mile he measured ; 
Yet the way seemed long before him, 
And his heart outrun his footsteps. 
And he journeyed without resting. 
Till he heard the cataract's laughter. 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to him through the silence. 
"Pleasant is the sound!" he murmured, 
"Pleasant is the voice that calls me !" 

On the outskirts of the forest, 
'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, 
Herds of fallow deer were feeding. 
But they saw not Hiawatha ; 
To his bow he whispered, " Fail not . ' 
To his arrow whispered, " Swerve not " 
Sent it singing on its errand, 
To the red heart of the roebuck ; 
Threw the deer across his shoulder, 
And sped forward without pausing. 

At the doorway of his wigwam 
Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
Making arrow-heads of jasper, — 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony. 
At his side, in all her beauty, 
Sat the lovely Minnehaha, 



HIAWATHA S AVOOING. 



Sat his daughter, I^aughing Water, 
Plaiting mats of flags and rushes ; 
Of the past the old man's thoughts were, 
And the maiden's of the future. 

He was thinking, as he sat there, 
Of the days when with such arrows 
He had struck the deer and bison. 
On the Muskoday, the meadow ; 
Shot the wild goose, flying southward. 
On the wing, the clamorous Wawa ; 
Thinking of the great war-parties. 
How they came to buy his arrows, 
Could not fight without his arrow<3. 
Ah, no more such noble warriors 
Could be found on earth as they were : 
Now the men were like the women. 
Only used their tongues for weapons I 

She was thinking of a hunter. 
From another tribe and country. 
Young and tall and very handsome, 
"Who one morning, in the Spring-time, 
Came to buy her father's arrows, 
Sat and rested in the wigwam, 
Lingered long about the doorway. 
Looking back as he departed. 
She had heard her father praise him. 
Praise his courage and his wisdom ; 
Would he come again for arrows 
To the Falls of Minnehaha ? 
On the mat her hands lay idle. 
And her eyes were very dreamy. 



Hiawatha's wooing. 49 

Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, 
Heard a rustling in the branches, 
And with glowing ch^ek and forehead, 
With the deer upon his shoulders, 
Suddenly from out the woodlands 
Hiawatha stood before them. 

Straight the ancient Arrow maker 
Looked up gravely from his labor. 
Laid aside the unfinished arrow, 
Bade him enter at the doorway, 
Saying, as he rose to meet him, 
*' Hiawatha, you are welcome ! " 

At the feet of Laughing Water 
Hiawatha laid his burden. 
Threw the red deer from his shouklers ; 
And the maiden looked up at him, 
Looked up from her mat of rushes. 
Said with gentle look and accent, 
" You are welcome, Hiawatha !'* 

Very spacious was the wigwam. 
Made of deer-skin dressed and whitened, 
With the Gods of the Dacotahs 
Drawn and painted on its curtains. 
And so tall the doorway, hardly 
Hiawatha stooped to enter. 
Hardly touched his eagle-feathers 
As he entered at the doorway. 

Then uprose the Laughing Water, 
From the ground fair Minnehaha 
Laid aside her mat unfinished. 
Brought forth food and set before them. 



50 Hiawatha's wooing. 

Water brought them from the brooklet. 
Gave them food in earthen vessels, 
Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, 
Listened while the guest was speakings 
Listened while her father answered. 
But not once her lips she opened. 
Not a single word she uttered. 

Yes, as in a dream she listened 
To the words of Hiawatha, 
As he talked of old Nokomis, 
Who had nursed him in his childhood, 
As he told of his companions, 
Chibiabas, the musician. 
And the very strong man, Kwasind, 
And of happiness and plenty 
In the land of the Ojibways, 
In the pleasant land and peaceful. 

" After many years of warfare, 
Many years of strife and bloodshed, 
There is peace between the Ojibwaj-s 
And the tribe of the Dacotahs." 
Thus continued Hiawatha, 
And then added, speaking slowly, 

" That this peace may last forevei, 
And our hands be clasped more closely, 
And our hearts be more united. 
Give me as my wiie this maiden, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Loveliest of Dacotah women ! " 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Paused a moment ere he answered, 



Hiawatha's wooing. 51 

Smoked a little while in silence, 
Looked at Hiawatha proudly, 
Fondly looked at Laughing Water, 
And made answer very gravely. 

" Yes, if Minnehaha wishes ; 
Let your heart speak, Minnehaha ! " 

And the lovely Laughing Water 
Seemed more lovely, as she stood there, 
Neither willing nor reluctant. 
As she went to Hiawatha, 
Softly took the seat beside him. 
While she said, and blushed to say it, 
" I wiU follow you, my husband !" 

This was Hiawatha's wooing ! 
Thus it was he won the daughter 
Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs. 

From the wigwam he departed. 
Leading with him Laughing Water ; 
Hand in hand they went together, 
Through the woodland and the meadow, 
Left the old man standing lonely 
At the doorway of his wigwam. 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to them from afar off, 
•• Fare thee well, O Minnehaha I" 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Turned again unto his labor, 
Sat down by his sunny doorway, 
Murmuring to himself, and saying : 
" Thus it is our daughters leave us. 



52 Hiawatha's wooing. 

Those we love, and those who love us ! 
Just when they have learned to help us, 
When we are old and lean upon them. 
Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, 
• With his flute of reeds, a stranger 
Wanders piping through the village, 
Beckons to the fairest maiden, 
And she follows where he leads her. 
Leaving all things for the stranger ! " 

Pleasant was the journey homeward, 
Through interminable forests. 
Over meadow, over mountain. 
Over river, hill, and hollow. 
Short it seemed to Hiawatha, 
Though they journeyed very slowly, 
Though his pace he checked and slackened 
To the steps of Laughing Water. 

Over wide and rushing rivers 
In his arms he bore the maiden ; 
Light he thought her as a feather. 
As the plume upon his head-gear ; 
Cleared the tangled pathway for her. 
Bent aside the swaying branches. 
Made at night a lodge of branches, 
And a bed with boughs of hemlock, 
And a fire before the doorway 
With the dry cones of the pine-tree. 

All the travelling winds went with them. 
O'er the meadow, through the forest ; 
All the stars of night looked at them. 
Watched with sleepless eyes their slumber ; 



Hiawatha's wooing. 53 

From his ambush in the oak-tree 
Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Watched with eager eyes the lovers ; 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Scampered from the path before them. 
Peering, peeping from his burrow, 
Sat erect upon his haunches. 
Watched with curious eyes the lovers. 

Pleasant was the journey homeward 1 
All the birds sang loud and sweetly 
Songs of happiness and heart's-ease. 
Sang the blue-bird, the Owaissa, 
" Happy are you, Hiawatha, 
Having such a wife to love you ! " ; 

Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
" Happy are you. Laughing Water, 
Having such a noble husband ! " 

From the sky the sun benignant 
Looked upon them through the branches. 
Saying to them, " O my children. 
Love is sunshine, hate is shadow; 
Life is checkered shade and sunshine ; 
Rule by love, O Hiawatha ! " 

From the sky the moon looked at them. 
Filled the lodge with mystic splendors, 
Whispered to them, " my children. 
Day is restless, night is quiet, 
Man imperious, woman feeble ; 
Half is mine, although I follow ; 
Rule by patience. Laughing Water 1 " 



54 A BRIDAL MELODY. 

Thus it was they journeyed homeward ; 
Thus it was that Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokomis 
Brought the moonlight, starlight, firelight, 
Brought the sunshine of his people, 
Minnehaha, Laughing "Water, 
Handsomest of all the women 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
In the land of handsome women. 



J. T. Fields. 



'^^^^^tsaf^d'-*^ 




HE stood, like an angel just wandered from heaven, 
A pilgrim benighted away from the skies, 

And little Ave deemed that to mortals were given, 
Such visions of beauty as came from her eyes. 

She looked up and smiled on the many glad faces, 
The friends of her childhood, who stood by her 
side ; 
But she shone o'er them all, like a queen of the Graces, 
When ILushing she whispered the vow of a bride. 

We sang an old song, as with garlands we crowned her, 
And each left a kiss on her delicate brow ; 

And we prayed that a blessing might ever surround her, 
And the future of life be unclouded as now. 



WHEN I AM OLD. 




Caroline j^. ^rig-gs. 

(1 HEN I am old — (and 0, how soon 
5) Will life's sweet morning yield to nocn, 

And noon's broad, fervid, earnest light 

Be shaded in the solemn night ! 

Till like a story well-nigh told 

Will seem my life, when I am old.) — 

When I am old, this breezy earth 
Will lose for me its voice of mirth ; 
The streams will have an undertone 
Of sadness not by right their own ; 
And spring's sweet power in vain unfold 
In rosy charms — when I am old. 
When I am old, I shall not care 
To deck with flowers my faded hair ; 
'Twill be no vain desire of mine 
In rich and costly dress to shine ; 
Bright jewels and the brightest gold 
Will charm me nought — when I am old. 

When I am old, my friends will be 
Old and infirm and bowed, like me ; 
Or else, — (their bodies 'neath the sod, 
Their spirits dwelling safe with God), — 
The old church-bell will long have tolled 
Above the rest — when I am old. 
When I am old, I'd rather bend 
Thus sadly o'er each buried friend 



56 WHEN I AM OLD. 



Than see them lose the earnest truth 
That marks the friendship of our youth ; 
'Twill be so sad to have them cold, 
Or strange to me — when I am old ! 
"When I am old — O, how it seems 
Like the Avild lunacy of dreams, 
To picture in prophetic rhyme 
That dim, far-distant, shadowy time. — 
So distant, that it seems o'er bold 
Even to say, " When I am old." 

WTien I am old — perhaps ere then 

I shall be missed from haunts of men ; 

Perhaps my dwelling will be found 

Beneath the green and quiet mound ; 

My name by stranger hands enrolled 

Among the dead — ere I am old. 

Ere I am old ? — that time is now. 

For youth sits lightly on my brow ; 

My limbs are firm, and strong, and free ; 

Life hath a thousand charms for me ; 

Charms that will long their influence hold 

Within my heart — ere I am old. 

Ere I am old, O, let me give 

My life to learning liow to live I 

Then shall I meet with willing heart 

An early summons to depart, 

Or find my lengthened days consoled 

By God's sweet peace — when I am old. 



THE REVELLERS. 




JVLrs. Hemmzr 

:fe~\V)ING, joyous chords ! — ring out again ! 
"^=1^;^ A sw fter still, and a wilder strain ! 

They are here — the fair face and the careless 

heart, 
And stars shall wane ere the mirthful part- 
But I meet a dimly mournful glance. 
In a sudden turn of the flying dance ; 
I heard the tone of a heavy sigh 
In a pause of the thrilling melody ! 
And it is not well that woe should breathe 
On the bright spring flowers of the festal wreath ! 
Ye that to thought or to grief belong. 
Leave, leave the hall of song ! 

Ring, joyous chords ! — but who art thou, 
With the shadowy locks o'er thy pale, young brow, 
And the world of dreamy gloom that lies 
In the misty depths of thy soft, dark eyes ? 
Thou hast loved, fair girl, thou hast loved too well ; 
Thou art mourning now o'er a broken spell; 
Tliou hast poured thy heart's rich treasures forth, 
A.nd art unrepaid for their priceless worth ; 
Mourn on ! — yet come thou not here the while ; 
It is but a pain to see thee smile ; 
There is not a tone in our songs for thee — 
Home with thy sorrows flee. 



58 THE REVELLERS. 



Ring, joyous chords ! ring out again ! 
But what dost thou with the revel's train ? 
A silvery voice through the soft air floats, 
But thou hast no part in the gladdening notes ; 
There are bright young faces that pass thee by, 
Rut they fix no glance of thy wandering eye. 
Away ! there's a void in thy yearning breast. 
Thou weary man ; wilt thou here find rest ? 
Away ! for thy thoughts from the scene have fled, 
And the love of thy spirit is with the dead ! 
Thou art but more lone 'midst the sounds of mirth. 
Back to thy silent hearth ! 

Ring, joyous chords ! ring forth again i 
A swifter still, and a wilder strain ! 
But thou, though a reckless mien be thine, 
And thy cup be crowned with the foaming wine, 
By the fitful bursts of thy laughter loud. 
By thine eye's quick flash through its troubled cloud, 
I know thee ! it is but the wakeful fear 
Of a haunted bosom that brings thee here ! 
I know thee ! thou fearest the solemn night. 
With her piercing stars and her deep wind's might ! 
There's a tone in her voice which thou fain wouldst shun 
For it asks what the secret soul had done ! 
And thou, there's a dark weight on thine — away ! — 
Back to thy home and pray ! 

Ring, joyous chords ! ring out again ! 

A swifter still, and a wilder strain ! 

And bring fresh wreaths ! we will banish all 

Save the free in heart from our festive hall. 



PRACTICAL CHARITY. 59 

On ! through the maze of the fleeting dance, on ! 
But where are the young and the lovely ? gone ! 
Where are tie brows with the Red Cross crowned, 
And the floating forms with the bright zone bound ? 
And the waving locks and flying feet. 
That still should be where these mirthful meet ? 
They are gone, they are fled, they are parted all : 
Alas ! the forsaken hall ! 



c..a-e:S^:^^^?^^=:3kAj> 




Crabbe. 

N ardent spirit dwells with Christian love, — 
The eagle's vigor in the pitying dove : 
'Tis not enough that we with sorrow sigh, 
That we 'the wants of pleading man supply ; 
That we in sympathy with sufferers feel. 
Nor hear a grief without a wish to heal ; — 
Not these suffice ; to sickness, pain, and woe. 
The Christian spirit loves with aid to go ; 
Will not be sought, waits not for Want to plead, 
But seeks the duty, — nay, prevents the need; 
Her utmost aid to every ill applies. 
And plants relief for coming miseries. 



CO THE FAITHFUL DOG. 




Bog. 

J/Lts. Eigo\vm.ey. 



7r\V)EE ! how lie strives to rescue from the flood 

The droAvning child, who, venturous in his play, 
Plunged from the slippery footing. With what joy 
The brave deliverer feels those slender arms 
Convulsive twining round his brawny neck, 
And saves his master's boy ! 

A zeal like this, 
Hath oft, amid St. Bernard's blinding snows, 
Tracked the faint traveller, or unsealed the jaws 
Of the voracious avalanche, plucking thence 
The hapless victim. 

If thou hast a dog 
Of such a noble race, let him not lack 
Aught of the kind requital, that delights 
His honest nature. When he comes at eve, 
Laying his ample head upon thy knee. 
And looking at thee with a glistening eye, 
Repulse him not, but let him on the rug 
Sleep fast and warm, beside thy parlor fire. 
The lion-guard of all thou lov'st is he. 
Yet bows his spirit at thy least command. 
And crouches at thy feet. Qn his broad back 
He bears thy youngest darling, and endures 
liong, with a wagging tail, the teasing sport 
Of each mischievous imp. Enough for him. 
That they are thine 



EXHORTATION TO COURAGE. 



61 



'Tis but an olden theme 
To sing the faithful dog. The storied page 
Full oft hath told his tried fidelity, 
In legend quaint. Yet if in this our world 
True friendsh'p is a scarce and chary plant, 
It might be well to stoop and sow its seed 
Even in the humblo bosom of a brute. 
— Slight nutriment it needs, — the kindly tone, 
The sheltering roof, the fragments from the board, 
The frank caress, or treasured word of praise 
For deeds of loyalty. 

So mayst thou win 
A willing servant, and an earnest friend, 
Faithful to death. 



Shakespeare. . 



^Rv UT wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? 

Be great in fact, as you have been in thought ; 

Let not the world see fear and sad distrust 
■^^ Govern the motion of a kingly eye ; 

Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 

Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow 

Of bragging horror ; so shall inferior eyes, 
That borrow their behaviors from the great. 




62 COUNTRY AJ^D PATRIOTISM. • 

Grow great by your example ; and put on 

The dauntless spirit of resolution ; 

Show boldness and aspiring confidence. 

What ! shall they seek the lion in his den, 

And fright him there, and make him tremble there ? 

O, let it not be said ! Forage, and run 

To meet displeasures further from the doors. 

And grapple with him ere he comes so nigh ! 




Festus. 

LOVE my God, my country, kind and kin ; 
Nor would I see a dog robbed of his bone. 
My country ! if a wretch shall e'er arise 
Out of thy countless sons, who would curtail 
Thy freedom, dim thy glory, — while he lives 
May all earth's peoples curse him, — for of all 
Hast thou secured the blessing : and if one 
Exist, who would not arm for liberty. 
Be he, too, cursed living, and when dead. 
Let him be buried downwards, with his face 
Looking to hell, and o'er his coward grave 
The hare skulk in her form. 







THE OLD HOME. — Page 6^. 



THE OLD HOME. 



63 




Tennysorv 



E love the well-beloved place 
^ Where first we gazed upon the sky ; 
The roofs that heard our earliest cry 
Will shelter one of stranger race. 

We go, but ere we go from home, 
As down the garden-walks I move. 
Two spirits of a diverse love 

Contend for loving masterdom. 

One whispers, " Here thy boyhood sung 
Long since its matin song, and heard 
The low love-language of the bird, 

In native hazels tassel-hung." 

The other answers, " Yea, but here 
Thy feet have strayed in after hours 
With thy best friend among the bowers. 

And this hath made them trebly dear." 

These two have striven half the day. 
And each prefers his separate claim, 
Poor rivals in a losing game, 

That will not yield each other way. 



64 



I turn to go : my feet are set 

To leave the pleasant fields and farms ; 

They mix in one another's arms 
To one pure image of regret. 



Youn£^. 




OOK Nature through, 'tis revolution all ; 
All change ; no death. Day follows night ; and 

night 
The dying day ; stars rise ana set, and rise ; 
Earth takes th' example. See, the Summer gay, 
With her green chaplet, and ambrosial flowers, 
Droops into pallid Autumn : Winter gray, 
Horrid with frost, and turbulent with storm, 
Blows Autumn and his golden fruits away ; 
Then melts into the spring ; soft Spring, with breath 
Favonian, from warm chambers of the south, 
Recalls the first. All, to re-flourish, fades ; 
As in a wheel, all sinks, to reascend — 
Emblems of mau, who passes, not expires. 



FOUND DEAD. 65 




JllheH Laig-hton. 



OUND dead ! dead and alone ! 

There was nobody near, nobody near 
When the Outcast died on his pillow of stone — 

No mother, no b-other, no sister dear, 
Not a friendly voice to soothe or cheer, 
Not a watching eye or a pitying tear — 
O, the city slept when he died alone, 
In the roofless street, on a pillow of stone. 

Many a weary day went by. 

While wretched and worn he begged for bread.. 
Tired of life, and longing to lie 

Peacefully down with the silent dead ; 
Hunger and cold, and scorn and pain. 
Had wasted his form and seared his brain. 
Till at last on a bed of frozen ground, 
With a pillow of stone, was the Outcast found. 

Found dead ! dead and alone. 

On a pillow of stone in the roofless street ; 
Nobody heard his last faint moan. 

Or knew when his sad heart ceased to beat ; 
No mourner lingered with tears or sighs. 
But the stars looked down with pitying eyes, 
And the chill winds passed with a wailing sound 
O'er the lonely spot where his form was found. 



66 



ONLY A YEAR. 



Found dead ! yet not alone ; 

There was somebody near — somebody near 
To claim the wanderer as his own, 

And find a home for the homeless here ; 
One, when every human door 
Is closed to his children scorned and poor. 
Who opens the heavenly portal wide ; 
Ah, God was near when the Outcast died. 



J/Trs. H. g. Stowe. 



^T~~e^c«>,a-x— 



NE year ago — a ringing voice, 
A clear blue eye, 
^2Jj^ And clustering curls of sunny hair. 
Too fair to die. 

Only a year — no voice, no smile, 

No glance of eye. 
No clustering curls of golden hair. 

Fair but to die ! 




One year ago — what loves, what schemes 

Far into life ! 
What joyous hopes, what high resolves, 

What generous strife 1 



ONLY A YEAR. 



The sileut picture on the wall, 

The burial stone, — 
Of all that beauty, life, and joy, 

Remain alone ! 

One year — one year — one little year, 

And so much gone ! 
And yet the even flow of life 

Moves calmlj^ on. 

The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair, 

Above that head ; 
No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray 

Says he is dead. 

No pause or hush of merry birds 

That sing above, 
Tell us how coldly sleeps below 

The form we love. 

Where hast thou been this year, beloved? 

What hast thou seen? 
What visions fair, what glorious life? 

Where hast thou been? 

The veil, the veil ! so thin, so strong, 

'Twixt us and thee ; 
The mystic veil ! when shall it fall. 

That we may see? 

Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone ; 
But present still, 



68 LONG LIFE. 



And waiting for the coming hour 
Of God's sweet will. 

Lord of the living and the dead. 
Our Saviour dear, 

We lay in silence at thy feet 
This sad, sad year. 




Kerjixedy. 



OXJNT not thy life by calendars ; for years 

Shall pass thee by unheeded, whilst an hour — 

Some little fleeting hour, too quickly past — 

May stamp itself so deeply on thy brain. 

Thy latest years shall live upon its joy. 

His life is longest, not whose boneless gums, 

Sunk eyes, wan cheeks, and snow-white hairs 

bespeak 
Life's limits ; no ! but he whose memory 
Is thickest set with those delicious scenes 
'Tis sweet to ponder o'er when even falls. 




TRESS ON. G9 



Press Oa. 

(Park ^enjamiTh. 
— ®©!9 — 

RESS on ! surmount tlie rocky steeps, 
Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch ; 

He fails alone who feebly creeps ; 
'J He wins who dares the hero's march. 

Be thou a hero ! let thy might 
Tramp on eternal snows its way, 

And, through the ebon walls of night, 
Hew down a passage unto day. 

Press on ! if once and twice thy feet 

Slip back and stumble, harder try ; 
From him who never dreads to meet 

Danger and death, they're sure to fly. 
To coward ranks the bullet speeds. 

While on their breasts, who never quail. 
Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds. 

Bright courage, like a coat of mail. 

Press on ! if Fortune play thee false 

To-day, to-morrow she'll be true ; 
Whom now she sinks, she now exalts, 

Taking old gifts, and granting new. 
The wisdom of the present hour 

Makes up for follies past and gone ; 
To weakness, strength succeeds, and power 

From frailty springs ! Press on, press on ' 



70 PROPOSAL. 



Therefore, press on, and rearh the goal, 

And gain the prize, and wear the crown; 
Faint not, for to the steadfast soul 

Come wealth, and honor, and renown. 
To thine own self be true, and keep 

Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil , 
Press on, and thou shalt surely reap 

A heavenlv harvef^t for thv toil. 



— ^^^ — 




^ayard Taylor. 



HE violet loves a sunny bank, 

The cowslip loves the lea, 
The scarlet creeper loves the elm. 
But I love — thee. 

The sunshine kisses mount and vale, 

The stars they kiss the sea, 
The west Avinds kiss the clover bloom, 
But I kiss — thee. 

The oriole weds his mottled mate, 

The lily 's bride o' the bee ; 
Heaven's marriage ring is round the earth, 
Shall I wed thee ? 




Raphael's account of the creation. 71 

JMtQn. 
— ^-C^S^S£>W<©<K 

ExiVEN opened wide 
fjjHer ever-during gates — harmonious sound — 
On golden binges moving, to let forth 
The King of Glory, in his powerful Word 
And Spirit, coming to create new worlds. 
On heavenly ground they stood ; and, from the shore 
They viewed the vast, immeasurable abyss, 

Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild. 

Up from the bottom turned by furious winds, 

And surging waves, as mountains, to assault 

Heaven's height, and with the centre mix the pole. 

" Silence, ye troubled waves, and, thou deep, peace," 

Said then the omnific Word ; " your discord end ! " 

Nor staid, but, on the wings of cherubim 

Uplifted, in paternal glory rode 

Far into Chaos, and the world unborn ; 

For Chaos heard his voice ; him all his train 

Followed in bright procession, to behold 

Creation, and the wonders of his might. 

Then staid the fervid wheels, and in his hand 

He took the golden compasses, prepared 

In God's eternal store, to circumscribe 

This universe, and all created things ; 

One foot he centred, and the other turned 

Round through the vast profundity obscure. 



: RAPHAEL S ACCOUNT OF THE CREATION. 

And said, " Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds, 
This be thy just circumference, O world ! " 
Thus God the heaven created, thus the earth, 
flatter unformed and void ; darkness profound 
Covered the abyss ; but on the watery calm 
His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread, 
And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth 
Throughout the fluid mass. 

Then founded, then conglobed 
Like things to like, the rest to several place 
Disparted, and between spun out the air ; 
And earth, self-balanced, on her centre hung. 

" Let there be light," said God ; and forthwith light 

Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure, 

Sprung from the deep, and from her native east, 

To journey through the airy gloom began. 

Sphered in a radiant cloud ; for yet the sun 

Was not ; she in a cloudy tabernacle 

Sojourned the while. God saw the light was good. 

And light from darkness, by the hemisphere, 

Divided : light the day, and darkness night. 

He named ; thus was the first day even and morn ; 

Nor passed uncelebrated, nor unsung 

By the celestial choirs, when orient light 

Exhaling first from darkness they beheld ; 

Birthday of heaven and earth : with joy and shout 

The hollow universal orb they filled. 

And touched their golden harps, and hymning praised 

God and his Avorks ; Creator him they sung. 

Both when first evening was, and when first morn. 



DARKNESS. 



^T/ron. 



HAD a dream, which was not all a dream. 
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars 
Did wander darkling in the eternal space, 
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth 
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air. 
Morn came, and went, and came, and brought no day 
And men forgot their passions in the dread 
Of this their desolation ; and all hearts 
Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light ; 
And *.hey did live by watch-fires, and the thrones, 
The pakces of crowned kings, the huts. 
The habitations of all things which dwell. 
Were burned for beacons ; cities were consumed, 
And men were gathered round their blazing homes 
To look once more into each other's face ; 
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye 
Of the volcanoes, and their mountain-torch : 
A fearful hope was all the world contained ; 
Forests were set on fire, but hour by hour 
They fell and faded, and the crackling trunks 
Extinguished with a crash, and all was black. 
The brows of men by the despairing light 
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits 
The flashes fell upon them : some lay down 
And hid their eyes, and wept ; and some did rest 



DARKNESS. 



Their chins upon their clinched hands, and sighed ; 

And others hurried to and fro, and fed 

Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up 

"With mad disquietude on the dull sky. 

The pall of a past world, and then again 

With curses cast them down upon the dust. 

And gnashed their teeth, and howled ; the wild birds 

shrieked, 
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground. 
And flap then* useless wings ; the wildest brutes 
Came tame and tremulous ; and vipers crawled 
And twined themselves among the multitude. 
Hissing, but stingless ; they were slain for food ; 
And War, which for a moment was no more, 
Did glut himself again ; a meal was bought 
With blood, and each sat sullenly apart. 
Goring himself in gloom ; no love Avas left ; 
All earth was but one thought, and that was death, 
Immediate and inglorious ; and the pang 
Of famine fed upon all entrails — men 
Died, and their bones were tombless as the flesh; 
The meagre by the meagre were devoured ; 
Even dogs assailed their masters, all save one ; 
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 
The birds and beasts and famished men at bay, 
Till hunger clung them, or the drooping dead 
Lured their lank jaws ; himself sought out no food. 
But it was piteous and perpetual moan. 
And a quick, desolate cry, licking the hand 
Which answered not with a caress — he died. 
The crowd was famished by degrees ; but two 



DARKNESS. 



Of an enormous city did survive, 
And they were enemies ; they met beside 
The dying embers of an altar-place, 
Where had been heaped a mass of holy things 
For an unholy usage ; they raked up. 
And shivering, scraped with their cold, skeleton hands 
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath 
Blew for a little life, and made a flame 
Which was a mockery ; then they lifted up 
Their eyes as it grew brighter, and beheld 
Each other's aspects — saw, and shrieked, and died. 
Even of their mortal hideousness they died, 
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow 
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void. 
The populous and the powerful was a lump, 
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless — 
A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay. 
The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still. 
And nothing stirred within their silent depths ; 
Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea. 
And their masts fell down piecemeal ; as they dropped 
They slept on the abyss without a surge ; 
The waves were dead ; the tides were in their grave ; 
The moon, their mistress, had expired before ; 
The winds were withered in the stagnant air. 
And the clouds perished ; Darkness had no need 
Of aid from them — she was the universe. 



/ 



/ 



THE TRUE ARISTOCRATo 



SteLuart. 



— -t.-e'«j»>?)-~»'- 




^ HO are the nobles of the earth, 
^ The true aristocrats, 
Who need not bow their heads to lords. 

Nor doff to kings their hats ? 
Who are they but the men of toil, 

The mighty and the free, 
Whose hearts and hands subdue the earth, 
And compass all the sea ? 



Who are they but the men of toil, 

Who cleave the forest down, 
And plant, amid the Avilderness, 

The hamlet and the town, — 
Who fight the battles, bear the scars, 

And give the world its crown 
Of name, and fame, and history, 

And pomp of old renown ? 



These claim no gaud of heraldry, 

And scorn the knighting rod ; 
Their coats of arms are noble deeds, 

Their peerage is from God ! 
They take not from ancestral graves 

The glory of their name, 
But win, as once their fathers won, 

The laurel wreath of fame. 



THE SHIP. 77 



Bouthey. 




TATELY yon vessel sails adown the tide. 
To some far distant land adventurous bound ; 

The sailors' busy cries from side to side, 

Pealing, among the echoing rocks, resound ; 

A patient, thoughtless, much-enduring band. 
Joyful they enter on their ocean way ; 

With shouts exulting leave their native land. 
And know no care beyond the present day 
But is there no poor mourner left behind, 

Who sorrows for a child or husband there ? 
Who at the howling of the midnight wind 

Will wake and tremble in her boding prayer . 
So may her voice be heard, and Heaven be kind 

Go, gallant ship, and be thy fortune fair. 
* * * * 

God, have mercy in this dreadful hour . 

On the poor mariner ; in comfort here, 

Safe sheltered as I am, I almost fear 
The blast that rages with resistless power. 

What were it now to toss upon the waves, 
ITie maddened waves, and know no succor near 
The howling of the storm alone to hear. 

And the wild sea that to the tempest raves ; 
To gaze amid the horrors of the night. 
And only see the billows' gleaming light ; 

Then, in the dread of death, to think of her 
Who, as she listens, sleepless, to the gale, 



THE OLD MAN BY THE BROOK. 



Puts up a silent prayer, and waxes pale ! 
O God, have mercy on the mariner. 
* * * « 

She comes majestic with her swelling sails, 
The gallant ship ; along her watery way 

Homeward she drives before the favoring gales ; 
Now flirting at their length the streamers play, 

And now they ripple with the ruffling breeze. 
Hark to the sailors' shouts ! the rocks rebound. 
Thundering in echoes to the joyful sound. 

Long have they voyaged o'er the distant seas ; 
And what a heart-delight they feel at last, 
So many toils, so many dangers past, 

To view the port desired, he only knows 
Who on the stormy deep for many a day 
Hath tossed, a-weary of his watery way. 

And watched, all anxious, every wind that blows. 




lai hj tine Bro©k. 

WordszuoHh. 



OWN to the vale this water steers ; how merrily 
it goes ! 

'Twill murmur on a thousand years, and flow Bs 
now it flows ; 

And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose 
but think 

How oft, a vigorous mail, I lay beside this foun- 
tain's brink. 



THE RRIDE. 1^9 

My eyes are filled with childish tears, my heart is idly 

stirred, 
For the same sound is in my ears that in those days 1 

heard. 




JS-s. BigQumey. 



CAME, but she was gone. 

In her fair home. 
There lay her lute, just as she touched it last, 
At summer twilight, when the woodbine cups 
Filled with pure fragrance. On her favorite seat 
Lay the still-open work-box, and that book 
Which last she read, its pencilled margin marked 
By an ill-quoted passage — traced, perchance. 
With hand unconscious, while her lover spake 
That dialect, which brings forgetfiilness 
Of all beside. It was the cherished home, 
WTiere, from her childhood, she had been the star 
Of hope and joy. 

I came — and she was gone. 
Yet I had seen her from the altar led. 
With silvery veil but slightly swept aside, 
The fresh, young rose-bud deepening in her cheek. 
And on her brow the sweet and solemn thought 
Of cue who gives a priceless gift away. 



80 THE DKIDE. 



And there was silence 'mid the gathered throng : 
The stranger, and the hard of heart, did draw 
Their breath suppressed, to see the mother's lip 
Turn ghastly pale, and the majestic sire 
Shrinks as with smothered sorrow, when he gave 
His darling to an untried guardianship, 
And to a far-off clime. 

Haply his thought 
Traversed the grass-grown prairies, and the shore 
Of the cold lakes ; or those o'erhanging cliffs, 
And pathless mountain top, that rose to bar 
Her long-reared mansion from the anxious eye 
Of kindred and of friend. Even triflers felt 
How strong and beautiful is woman's love, 
That, taking in its hand its thornless joys. 
The tenderest melodies of tuneful years. 
Yea! and its own life also — lays them all, 
Meek and unblenching, on a mortal's breast. 
Reserving nought, save that unspoken hope 
Which hath its root in God. 

Mock not with mirth 
A scene like this, ye laughter-loving ones ; 
The licensed jester's lip, the dancer's heel — 
What do they here ? 

Joy, serious and sublime. 
Such as doth nerve the energies of prayer, 
Should swell the bosom when a maiden's hand. 
Filled with life's dewy flow'rets, girdeth on 
That harness, which the ministry of Death 
Alone unlooses, but whose fearful power 
May stamp the sentence of Eternity. 



THE COMMOX LOT. 




JJLorbtgomerij. 



NCE, in the flight of ages past, 

There lived a man ; — and who was he ? 
Mortal, howe'er thy lot be cast, 
That man resembled thee. 

Unknown the region of his birth ; 

The land in which he died unknown : 
His name has perished from the earth ; 

This truth survives alone : — 

That joy and grief, and hope and fear. 
Alternate, triumphed in his breast ; 

His bliss and woe, — a smile, a tear, — 
Oblivion hides the rest. 

The bounding pulse, the languid limb. 
The changing spirit's rise and fall, — 

We know that these were felt by him. 
For these are felt by all. 

He suff'ered, — but his pangs are o'er ; 

Enjoyed, — but his delights are fled ; 
Had friends, — his friends are now no more ; 

And foes, — his foes are dead. 

He loved, — but whom he loved, the grave 
Hath lost in its unconscious womb ; 



82 THE COMMON LOT. 

O, she was fair ! but nought could save 
Her beauty from tne tomb. 

He saw whatever thou hast seen ; 

Encountered all that troubles thee ; 
He was whatever thou hast been ; 

He is what thou shalt be. 

The rolling seasons, day and night, 

Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main, 

Erewhile his portion, life and light. 
To him exist in vain. 

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye 
That once their shades and glory threw^ 

Have left in yonder silent sky 
No vestige where they flew. 

The annals of the human race. 
Their ruin since the world began. 

Of him afi'ord no other trace 

Than this, — Theke lived a max. 




TWENTY YEARS AGO. 83 




Twenty Years Ago. 

Home Journal. 

MET a girl the other day, 
Some twelve years old or bo. 
The image of a nymph I loved 
Some twenty years ago. 

The blushing cheek, the sparkling eye, 

The hair of raven flow, 
Ah, how they set my heart a-blaze 

Some twenty years ago. 

I spoke ; her answers did not much 

Of wit or wisdom show, 
But thus the lovely Mary talked. 

Some twenty years ago. 

What ! could a shallow heart like this 

My heart in tumult throw ? 
I must have been a little green 

Some twenty years ago. 

I met the lovely Mary since — 

Her charms have vanished, though : 

Her wit and wisdom are — the same 
As twenty years ago. 

I looked upon her faded cheek. 
Unlit by feeling's glow; 



84 



THE WORLD S WANDERERS. 



And thanked her that she scorned my love 

Some twenty years ago. 

Fond boy, who now wouldst gladly die 
To please some simpering miss, 

Who knows Avhat thou wilt think of her 
Some twenty years from this ? 



->0@^«E4@4)<- 



The W@rM's Wamiii^ers. 



Shelley. 




ELL me, thou star, whose wings of light 
Speed thee in thy fiery flight. 
In what cavern of the night 

Will thy pinions close now ? 

Tell me, moon, thou pale and gray 
Pilgrim of heaven's homeless Avay, 
^n what depth of night or day 
Seekest thou repose now ? 

Weary wind, who wanderest 
Like the world's rejected guest, 
Hast thou still some secret nest 
On the tree or billow ? 



SPEAK GENTLY. 



85 



JxTvon. 




PEAK gently ; in this world of ours. 

Where clouds o'ersweep the sky, 
And sweetest flowers and fairest forms 

Are ever first to die ; 
Where friendship changes, and the ties 

That bind fond hearts are riven, 
Mild, soothing words are like the stars 

That light the midnight heaven. 



There are enough of tears on earth, 

Enough of toil and care ; 
And e'en the lightest heart hath much 

To suffer and to bear. 
Within each spirit's hidden depths 

Some sweet hope withered lies. 
From whose soft, faded bloom we turn 

In sadness to the skies. 

Speak gently, then, and win the smiles 

Back to the shadowed face, 
And bid the clouded brow resume 

Its fresh and youthful grace. 
Thy gentle words, perchance, may guide 

A wanderer to the sky, 
Or teach some, earth-bound soul to soar 

Above the things that die. 



86 WAXIXG SPIRIT. 



Lead gently back the erring feet 

That love perchance to stray ; 
Thou canst not know how long thej strove 

Ere leaving virtue's way ; 
Nor with what desolating power 

Despair's dark phantom came, 
And, with her sad touch, made the heart 

A desert, seared with flame. 

Within that desert there is yet 

Some pure oasis-spot. 
Formed of sweet memories of scenes 

That ne'er can be forgot. 
For that bright soul, with care now woro. 

Bowed down though it may be, 
The selfsame Saviour died, who gav? 

His priceless life for thee. 



Festiis. 

T is sad 

'To see the light of beauty wane aM'ay, 
Know eyes are dimming, bosoms shrivelling, feet 
Losing their spring, and limbs their lily roundness ; 
But it is worse to feel our heart-spring gone, 
5^ To lose hope, care not for the coming thing. 
And feel all things go to decay with us, 
As 'twere our life's eleventh month. 




5IORXIN"(> AMONG THE HILLS. 87 



'oramg among tJie EiEse 

(Perciual. 



NIGHT had passed away among the hills ; 
And now the first faint tokens of the dawn 
Showed in the east. The bright and dewy star 
Whose mission is to usher in the morn, 
Looked through the cool air, like a blessed thing 
In a far purer world : below, there lay. 
Wrapped round a woody mountain tranquilly, 
A misty cloud. 

Its edges caught the light 
That now came up from out the unseen depth 
Of the full fount of day ; and they were laced 
With colors ever brightening. I had waked 
From a long sleep of many changing dreams, 
And now in the fresh forest air I stood, 
Nerved to another day of wandering. 

Below, there lay a far-extended sea. 
Rolling in feathery waves. The wind blew o'er it 
And tossed it round the high-ascending rocks. 
And swept it through the half-hidden forest tops. 
Till, like an ocean waking into storm. 
It heaved and weltered. Gloriously the light 
Crested its billows ; and those craggy islands 
Shone on it like to palaces of spar, 
Built on a sea of pearl. 

The sky bent round 
The awful dome of a most mighty temple. 



88 MORXIXG AMOXG THE HILLS. 

Built by Omnipotent hands, for nothing less 
Than infinite worship. There I stood in silence ; 
1 had no words to tell the rriingled thoughts 
Of wonder and of joy which then came o'er me, 
Even with a whirlwind's rush. 

So beautiful, 
So bright, so glorious ! Such a majesty 
In yon pure vault ! So many dazzling tints 
In yonder waste of waves, — so like the ocean 
With its unnumbered islands there encircled 
By foaming surges : — 

Soon away the mist-cloud rolled, 
Wave after wave. They climbed the highest rocks, 
Poured over them in surges, and then rushed 
Down glens and valleys like a winter's torrent, 
Dashed instant to the plain. It seemed a moment. 
And they were gone, as if the touch of fire 
At once dissolved them ! 

Then I found myself 
Midway in air ; ridge after ridge below 
Descended with their opulence of woods 
Even to the dim-seen level, where a lake 
Flashed in the sun ; and from it wound a line, 
Now silvery bright, even to the furthest verge 
Of the encircling hills. 

A waste of rocks 
Was round me, — but below, how beautiful ! 
How rich the plain ! a wilderness of groves 
And ripening harvests ; while the sky of June, 
The soft, blue sky of June, and the cool air 
That makes it then a luxury to live 



THE DEATH BED. 89 



Only to breathe it, and the busy echo 
Of cascades and the voice of mountain brooks 
Stole with so gentle meaning to my heart, 
That where I stood seemed heaven ! 



=-rs^^fers>-5 



The Beath Bed. 

Hood. 



M E watched her breathing through the night, 
^ Her breathing, soft and low, 
yiJi>M4. As in her breast the wave of life 
i\ Kept heaving to and fro. 

So silently we seemed to speak, 

So slowly moved about, 
As we had lent her half our powers 

To eke her living out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears, 

Our fears our hopes belied ; 
We thought her dying when she slept, 

And sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came dim and sad. 

And chill with early showers, 
Her quiet eyelids closed ; — she had 

Another morn than ours. 



90 MY darlings' shoes. 



V 






oj*io 




lOD bless the little feet that never go astray. 
For the little shoes are empty in my closet laid 

away ! 
Sometimes I take one in my hand, forgetting til] 

I see 
It is a little half-worn shoe, not large enough for 
me ; 
And all at once I feel a sense of bitter loss and pain. 
As sharp as when two years ago it cut my heart in twain. 

O, little feet, that wearied not, I wait for them no more. 
For I am drifting on the tide, but they have reached the 

shore ; 
And while the blinding tear-drops wet these little shoes 

so old, 
I try to think my darlings' feet are treading streets of gold. 
And so I lay them down again, but always turn to say — 
God bless the little feet that now so surely cannot stray. 

And while I thus am standing, I almost seem to see 
Two little forms beside me, just as they used to be ; 
Two little faces lifted with their sweet and tender eyes ! 
Ah me ! I might have known that look was born of 

Paradise. 
I reacli my arms out fondly, but they clasp the empty air ! 
There is nothing of my darlings but the shoes they used 

to wear. 



THE cotter's SATURDAY NIGHT. 



91 



O, the bitterness of parting cannot be done away 

Till I meet my darlings walking where their feet can nevei 

stray ; 
When I no more am drifted upon the surging tide, 
But with them safely landed upon the river-side ; 
Be patient, heart, while waiting to see their shining way 
For the little feet in the golden street can never go astray. 



Inscribed to Robert Aiken, Esq., 

BUTTIS 



' Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short but simple annals of the poor." 

Gbat. 



Y loved, my honored, much respected friend. 

No mercenar)' bard his homage pays ; 
► With honest pride I scorn each selfish end. 
My dearest meed a friend's esteem and 

praise ; 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 
The lowly train in life's sequestered scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 
What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
A.h ! though his worth unknown, far happier there I ween 




92 THE cotter's SATURDAY NIGHT. 

» 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; 
The short' niiig winter day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh. 
The black' ning trains o' craws to their repose ; 
The toil-worn cotter frae his labor goes, — 
This night his weekly moil is at an end, — 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes. 
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'ej- the moor, his course does homeward bend, 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee things, toddlin, stacher through. 
To meet their dad wi' flichterin noise and glee. 
His wee bit ingle blinkin bonnily. 
His clean hearthstane, his thriftie wifie's smile. 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
Does a' his weary, carking cares beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labor an' his toil. 

Belyve, the elder bairns come drappin in, 
At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 
A cannie errand to a neebor town. 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 
In youthful bloom, love sparklin in her e'e. 
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw-new govra, 
Or deposit her sair-won penny fee. 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

Wi' joy unfeigned, brothers anj. sisters meet. 
An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers ; 



THE cotter's SATURDAY NIGHT. 93 

The social hours, swift-Avinged, unnoticed, fleet ; 
Each tells the unco's that he sees or hears ; 
The parents' partial eye their hopeful years ; 
Anticipation forward points the view ; 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers. 
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

Their master's an' their mistress's command, 
The younkers' a' are warned to obey ; 
An' mind their labors wi' an eydent hand. 
An' ne'er though out o' sight to jauk or play ; 
" An' O, be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 
An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night ! 
Leest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 
Implore his counsel and assisting might ; 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright ! " 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Teils how a neebor lad came o'er the moor, 
To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 
Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; 
With heart-struck, anxious care inquires his name, 
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild, worthless 
rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ber ; 
A strappan youth ; he takes the mother's eye ; 
Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 
The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 



94 THE cotter's SATURDAY NIGHT. 

The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 
But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
What makes the youth sae bashfu' an sae grave ; 
Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave 

happy love ! where love like this is found ! 
O heartfelt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
I've paced much this weary, mortal round. 
And sage experience bids me this declare — 
*' If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare. 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair 
In other's arms breathe out the tender tale. 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the eveuiug 
gale." 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, 
A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth. 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. 
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 
Curse on his perjured arts ; dissembling, smooth. 
All honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled ; 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, 
Points to the parents fondling o'er their child. 
Then paints the ruined maid, and the distraction wild ? 

But now the supper crowns their simple board, 
The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food ; 
The soupe their only Hawkie does aflford. 
That yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood. 



THE cotter's SATURDAY NIGHT. 95 

To grace the lad, her weel-hained kebbuck, fell, 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell. 
How 'twas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face. 
They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace. 
The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride ; 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 
His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare : 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide. 
He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
And, " Let us worship God ! " he says, with solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise : 
They tune their hearts, by far the noble.st aim. 
Perhaps Dundee's wild, warbling measures rise. 
Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ; 
Or noble Elgin beats the heavenward flame, 
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compared with these Italian trills are tame ; 
The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise , 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page. 
How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
"With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 
Beneath the strokes of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cry ; 



96 THE cotter's SATURDAY NIGHT. 

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
How He, who bore in heaven the second name, 
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head ; 
How his first followers and servants sped ; 
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land ; 
How he who lone in Patmos banished, 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand. 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaveu's 
command. 

Then kneeling down, to heaven's eternal King, 
The saint, the father, and the husband prays : 
Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing," 
That thus they all shall meet n future days, 
There ever bask in uncreated rays. 
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear. 
Together hymning their Creator's praise. 
In such society, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 

Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride, 
In all the pomp of method, and of art. 
When men display to congregations wide 
Devotion's every grace, except the heart ! 
The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert. 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart. 
May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul, 
And in his book of life the inmates poor enroll. 



THE cotter's SATURDAY KIGIIT. 97 



Then homeward all take off their several way; 
The youngling cottagers retire to rest ; 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 
And proffer up to Heaven the warm request 
That He, who stills the raven's clamorous nest. 
And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, 
Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, 
For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 
That makes her loved at home, revered abroad ; 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings ; 
" An honest man's the noblest work of God ; " 
And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road. 
The cottage leaves the palace far behind. 
What is a lordling's pomp ? a cumbrous load, 
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined. 

O Scotia, my dear, my native soil. 
For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent, 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
Be blessed with health, and peace, and sweet content; 
And O, may Heaven their simple lives prevent 
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ; 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
Ajid stand a wall of fire around their much-loved isle. 

O Thou who poured the patriotic tide 

That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart ; 



98 



HAMLET S SOLILOQUY. 



Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 
Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, 
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) 
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert : 
But still the patriot, and the patriot bard. 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard. 



Shalcespeare. 




O be, or not to be, that is the question : — 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
\^2> Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 

And, by opposing, end them. To die — to sleep 
No more ; and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wished. To die — to sleep ; 
To sleep ! perchance to dream ; ay, there's the rub ; 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause. There's the respect, 
That makes calamity of so long life ; 
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. 
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely. 
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 



HAPPINESS. 



9!) 



The insolence of office, and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin ? W^ho would fardels bear, 
To grunt and sweat under a weary life. 
But that the dread of something after death — 
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
No traveller returns — puzzles the will, 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
Than fly to others that we know not of! 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
W^ith this regard, their currents turn awry, 
And lose the name of action. 



Keble. 




HERE are in this rude stunning tide 

Of human care and crime. 
With whom the melodies abide 

Of the everlasting chime, 
Who carry music in their heart. 
Through dusty lane and ^vrangling mart, 
Plying their daily toil with busier feet, 
Because their sec-et souls a holy strain repeat. 



100 THE TRUMPET. 




J\Krs. Hemans. 



' HE trumpet's voice hath roused the land — 

Light up the beacon-pyre ; 
A hundred hills have seen the brand, 
f^ And waved the sign of fire ; 

A hundred banners to the breeze 
Their gorgeous folds have cast ; 
And hark ! was that the sound of seas ? 
A king to war went past. 

The chief is arming in his hall, 

The peasant by his hearth ; 
The mourner hears the thrilling call, 

And rises from the earth. 
The mother, on her first-born son, 

Looks with a boding eye ; 
They come not back, though all be won. 

Whose young hearts leap so high. 

The bard hath ceased his song, and bound 

The falchion to his side ; 
E'en for the marriage altar crowned. 

The lover quits his bride. 
And all this haste, and change, and fear, 

By earthly clarion spread ! 
How will it be when kingdoms hear 

The blast that wakes the dead ? 



ODE OX Cecilia's day. 101 



(I)ryden. 

\A7^'R0'M harmony, from heavenly harmony, 
^ This universal frame began : 
When nature underneath a heap 

Of jarring atoms lay, 
And could not heave her head, 

The tuneful voice was heard from high, 
" Arise, ye more than dead ! " 

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry. 
In order to their stations leap. 

And Music's power obey. 

From harmony, from heavenly harmony. 

This universal frame began ; 
From harmony to harmony. 

Through all the compass of the notes, it ran, 

The diapason closing full in roan. 

What passion cannot music raise and quell ? 
When Jubal struck the chorded shell. 

His listening brethren stood around. 
And, wondering, on their faces fell 

To worship that celestial sound. 
Less than a god they thought there could not dwell 
Within the hollow of that shell, 
That spoke so sweetly and so well. 
What passion cannot music raise and quell ? 



102 ODE ON Cecilia's pay. 

The trumpet's loud clangor 

Excites us to arms, 
With shrill notes of anger, 

And mortal alarms. 
The double, double, double beat 

Of the thundering drum 

Cries, " Hark ! the foes come ; 
Charge, charge ! 'tis too late to retreat." 

The soft, complaining flute 

In dying notes discovers 
• The woes of hapless lovers. 
Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute. 
Sharp violins proclaim 

Their jealous pangs, and desperation, 

Fury, frantic indignation, 

Depths of pain and height of passion, 
For the fair, disdainful dame. 

But ! what art can teach. 
What hviman voice can reach. 

The sacred organ's praise ! 
Notes inspiring holy love. 

Notes that wing their heavenly ways 
To mend the choirs above. 

Orpheus could lead the savage race, 

And trees uprooted left their place. 
Sequacious of the lyre ; 
But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher : 

When to her organ vocal breath was gi^en, 
An angel heard, and straight appeared. 

Mistaking earth for heaven. 



skater's song. 103 




WAY and away, o'er the deep-sounding tide, 
On crystals of silver we sweep and we glide ; 
The steel is our pinion, our roof the broad blue, 
And heaven's pure breezes our pathway pursue. 
So, joyfully, brothers, we glide and we sweep 
Away and away over life's frozen deep. 

Tho'i golden-bright palace, whose hand arched thee o'er, 
Am spread out beneath us the diamond-paved floor, 
knu gave us the steel vv'ith its lightning-like glance, 
Through heavenly chambers to float an i to dance ? 
Sc joyfully, brothers, we float and we glide 
Tnrough the heavenly chambers of life far and wide. 

Through the pale mist of evening the sun glimmers still, 

And lingers a while on the brow of the hill ; 

But now he's gone down, and with tranquil soft glow, 

The moon, shines like silver above and below. 

So, joyfully, brothers, we float and we glide. 

In sunshine and moonlight, o'er life's silver tide. 

Look up, now ! how sparkles that blue sea on high ! 
And bolow us, in frost, gleams a star-lighted sky ; 
For He, who with suns studded heaven overhead, 
Beneath us a frost-flowered meadow hath spread. 
So, joyfully, brothers, we float and we glide, 
Through life's starry meadows, away far and wide. 



104 ON LENDING A PUNCH BOWL. 

. He hath made us this palace, so airy and wide, 
And gave us steel feet, amid dangers to glide ; 
In the frosts of mid-winter he kindles our blood ; 
We hover, we sweep, o'er the treacherous flood. 
So, fearlessly, brothers, steel-hearted we sweep 
O'er the sounding abysses of life's stormy deep. 



O. W. Holmee 



' HIS ancient silver bowl of mine, — it tells oi 
good old times. 
Of joyous days, and jolly nights, and merry 
\£2^2ci5 Christmas chimes ; 

They were a free and jovial race, but honest, 

brave, and true. 
That dipped their ladle in the punch Avhen the 
old bowl was new. 

A Spanish galleon brought the bar — so runs the ancient 

tale ; 
Twas hammered by an Antwerp smith, whose arm was 

like a flail : 
And now and then, between the strokes, for fear his 

strength should fail. 
He wiped his brow, and quaffed a cup of good old Flem- 
ish ale 




ON LENDING A PUNCH BOAVL. 105 

Twas purchased by an English squire to please his loving 

dame, 
Who saw the cherubs, and conceived a longing for the 

same : 
And oft as on the ancient stock another twig was found, 
'Tw?.s filled with caudle spiced and hot, and handed 

smoking round. 

But, changing hands, it reached at length a Puritan divine, 
Who used to follow Timothy, and take a little wine, 
But hated punch and prelacy ; and so it was, perhaps, 
He went to Leyden, where he found conventicles and 
schnaps. 

And then, of course, you know what's next — it left the 

Dutchman's shore. 
With those that in the Maj'flower came — a hundred soula 

and more — 
Along with all the furniture, to fill their new abodes — 
To judge by what is still on hand, at least a hundred loads. 

'Twas on a merry winter's eve, the night was closing dim, 
When old Miles Standish took the bowl, and filled it to 

the brim. 
The little captain stood and stirred the posset with his 

sword, 
And all his sturdy men at arms were ranged about the 

board. 

He poured the fiery Hollands in — the man that never 

feared — 
He took a long and solemn draught, and wiped his yellow 

beard ; 



106 ON LENDING A PUNCH BOWL. 

And one by one tlie musketeers, the men that fought and 

prayed, 
All drank as 'twere their mothers' milk, and not a man 

afraid ! 

That night, affrighted from his nest, the screaming eagle 

flew ; 
He heard the Pequot's ringing whoop, the soldier's wild 

halloo ; 
And there the sachem learned the rule he taught to kith 

and kin, 
*' Run from the white man when you find he smells of 

Hollands gin." 

A hundred years, and fifty more, had spread their leaves 

and snows ; 
A thousand rubs had flattened down each little cherub's nose ; 
When once again the bowl was filled, but not in mirth or 

joy; 

Twas mingled by a mother's hand to cheer her parting boy. 

" Drink, John," she said ; '* 'twill do you good — poor 

child, you'll never bear 
This working in the dismal trench, out in the midnight air ; 
And if — God bless me — you were hurt, 'twould keep 

away the chill." 
So John did drink — and well he wrought that night at 

Bunker's Hill ! 

I tell you, there was generous warmth in good old Eng- 
lish cheer ; , 
I toll you, 'twas a pleasant thought to bring its symbol here \ 



SONG. 107 

'Tis but the fool that loves excess — has thou a drunken 

soul, 
Thy bane is in thy shallow skull, not in my silver bowl ! 

I love the memory of ';he just — its pressed yet fragrant 

flowers — 
The moss that clothes its broken walls — the ivy on its 

towers — 
Nay, this poor bawble it bequeathed — my eyes grow 

moist and dim, 
To think of all <^he vanished joys that danced around its brim. 

Then fill a fair and honest cup, and bear it straight to me ; 
The goblet hallows all it holds, whate'er the liquid be ; 
And may the cherubs on its face protect me from the sin. 
That dooms one to those dreadful words — "My dear, 
where have you been ? " 






HE chestnuts shine through the cloven rind, 
And the woodland leaves are red, my dear; 

The scarlet fuchsias burn in the wind — 
Funeral plumes for the year. 

The year which has brought me so much woe, 
That if it were not for you, my dear, 

I should wish the fuchsia's fire might glow 
For me as well as the year. 




108 A HUNDRED YEARS ACxO. 



_finoru. 




'1 HERE, where are all the birds that sang 
-^ A hundred years ago ? 
The flowers that all in beauty sprang 
A hundred years ago ? 
The lips that smiled, 
The eyes that wild 
In flashes shone 
Soft eyes upon ; 
Where, O where are lips and eyes, 
The maiden's smiles, the lover's sighs, 
That lived so long ago ? 

Who peopled all the city streets 

A hundred years ago ? 
Who filled the church, with faces meek, 
A hundred years ago ? 
The sneering tale, 
So mean and frail, 
The plot that worked 
A brother's hurt, — 
Where, O where, are plots and sneers. 
The poor man's hopes, the rich man's fears. 
That lived so long ago ? 




THE LOST MEXICAX CITY. 109 



YU Lost Ikxtaaoi Sxty. 

_J/![cLellan. 
— »-S*e<-~ 

" A large city once stood here ; its uaiue Is lost ; its history unlmown. 
For centuries it has lain as comijletely buried as if covered with the lava 
of Vesuvius. Every traveller from Yzabal to Guatinialahas passed within 
three hours of it ; yet there it lay like the rock-built city of Edoni, un- 
risited, unsought, and utterly unknown." 

Stevens's Researches in Central America. 



RUINED city ! In the heart 

Of the deep wilderness of woods 
It stands immured, where seldom foot 
^^ Of passing traveller intrudes. 
^~"' The troves primeval, year by year, 

Above the spot renew their bloom. 
Year after year cast down their wealth 
Of faded foliage o'er its tomb. 

Altar and idol here arise, 

Inscribed with hieroglyphics strange. 
Column and pjTamid sublime 

Defaced by centuries of change. 
Here, idols from their pedestals 

Displaced by roots of mightiest girth ; 
There, by a close-embracing branch 

Half-lifted in the air from earth. 
Or from their stations prostrate thrown. 

Their huge proportions strew the groundt 
With vines and brambles overthrown. 

With interlacing creepers bound. 



110 THE LOST MEXICAN CITY. 

No sound of life ! save when at eve 

The Indian's machete cleaves the wood, 
Or steps the Indian damsel by, 

Singing to cheer the solitude. 
No sound, save when the sobbing breeze 

Sighs through the forest's dim arcades, 
Or shrill call of the red macaw, 

Or parrot's gabble in the glades. 
Or when the monkey's chattering troop 

Glides o'er the tree top in their race, 
Like wandering spirits of the dead. 

Haunting the ruins of the place. 

Egypt's colossal skeletons 

Of temples and of wondrous shrines. 
In the unwatered sands repose, • 

Where hot the tropic summer shines : 
But forests lonely and immense 

Enshroud these ruins from the sight. 
And with their tangled barriers guard 

These hidden secrets from the light. 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. Ill 



LongfelloiLK 




OMEWHAT back from the village street. 

Stands the old-fashioned country seat. 

Across its antique portico 

The poplar trees their shadows throw ; 

And from its station in the hall 

An ancient time-piece says to all, 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

Half way up the stairs it stands, 
And points and beckons with its hands. 
From its case of massive oak, 
Like a monk, who under his cloak 
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
With sorrowful voice, to all who pass 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

By day its voice is low and light. 
But in the silent dead of night. 
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall 
It echoes along the vacant hall, 
Along the ceiling, along the floor. 
And seems to say at each chamber door, 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever." 



112 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 

In that mansion used to be 
Free-hearted hospitality ; 
His great fires by the chimney roared. 
The stranger feasted at his board ; 
But like the skeleton at the feast, 
The warning time-piece never ceased, 

" Forever — never 

Never — forever ! " 

There groups of merry children played, 
' There youths and maidens dreaming strayed ; 

O precious hours, O golden prime, 
And influence of love and time ; 
E'en as a miser counts his gold. 
Those hours the ancient time-piece told, 

*' Forever — never ! 

Never — forever." 

From that chamber, clothed in white. 
The bride came forth on her wedding-night ; 
There in that silent room below. 
The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 
And in the hush that followed the prayer, 
We heard the old clock on the stair, — 

'* Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

All are scattered now and fled ; 
Some are married, some are dead ; 
And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
*• Ah, when shall they all meet again. 



HEALIXCr OF THE DAUrrHTEU OF JAIRUS. 113 

As in the days long since gone by ? " 
The ancient time-piece makes reply, 

" Forever — never 

Never — forever ! " 

Never here, forever there ; 
Where all parting, pain, and care, 
And death and time shall disappear, 
Forever there, but never here ! 
The horologe of eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly, 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 



lealmf of IM Baiai|Mei? of Jdras. 

Willis. 



RESHLY the cool breath of the coming eve 
Stole through the lattice, and the .dying girl 
Felt it upon her forehead. She had lain 
Since the hot noontide in a breathless trance, 
Her thin, pale fingers clasped within the hanc 
Of the heart-broken Ruler, and her breast. 
Like the dead marble, white and motionless. 
The shadow of a leaf lay on her lips. 
And, as it stirred with the awakening wind, 
The dark lids lifted from her languid eyes, 




114 HEALING OF THE DAUGHTER OP JAIRUS. 

And her slight fingers moved, and heavily 

She turned upon her pillow. He was there. 

The same loved, tireless watcher, and she looked 

Into his face until her sight grew dim 

With the fast-falling tears ; and, with a sigh 

Of tremulous weakness murmuring his name. 

She gently drew his hand upon her lips. 

And kissed it as she wept. The old man sunk 

Upon his knees, and in the drapery 

Of the rich curtains buried up his face ; 

And when tlie twilight fell, the silken folds 

Stirred with his prayer; but the slight hand he held 

Had ceased its pressure, and he could not hear, 

In the dead, utter silence, that a breath 

Came through her nostrils — and her temples gave 

To his nice touch no pulse — and, at her mouth. 

He held the lightest curl that on her neck 

Lay with a mocking beauty, and his gaze 

Ached with its deathly stillness. 

It was night — 
And, softly o'er the Sea of Galilee, 
Danced the breeze-ridden ripples to the shore, 
Tipped with the silver sparkles of the moon. 
The breaking waves played low upon the beach 
Their constant music, but the air beside 
Was still as starlight, and the Saviour's voice, 
In its rich cadences unearthly sweet, 
Seemed like some just-born harmony in the air, 
Waked by the power of wisdom. On a rock. 
With the broad moonlight falling on h's brow, 
He stood and taught the people. At his feet 



HEALING OF THE DAUGHTER OP JAIRUS. 115 

Lay his small scrip, and pilgrim's scallop-shell, 

And staff — for they had waited by the sea 

Till he came o'er from Gadarene, and prayed 

For his wont teachings as he came to land. 

Ills hair was parted meekly on his brow, 

And the long curls from off his shoulders fell, 

As he leaned forward earnestly, and still 

The same calm cadence, passionless and deep^ 

And in his looks the same mild majesty — 

And in his mien the sadness mixed with power, — 

Filled them with love and wonder. Suddenly, 

As on his words entranc6dly they hung, 

The crowd divided, and among them stood 

Jairus the Ruler. With his flowing robe 

Gathered in haste about his loins, he came. 

And fixed his eyes on Jesus. Closer drew 

The twelve disciples to their Master's side ; 

And silently the people shrunk away, 

And left the haughiy ruler in the midst 

Alone. A moment longer on the face 

Of the meek Nazarene he kept his gaze, 

And, as the twelve looked on him, by the light 

Of the clear moon they saw a glistening tear 

Steal to his silver beard ; and, drawing nigh 

Unto the Saviour's feet, he took the hem 

Of his coarse mantle, and with trembling hands 

Pressed it upon his lids, and murmured low, 

♦' Master ! my daughter ! " 

The same silvery light, 
That shone upon the lone rock by the sea, 
Slept on the Kuler's lofty capitals. 



IIG HEALING OF THE DAUGIITEK OF JAIRUS. 

As at the door he stood, and welcomed in 
Jesus and his disciples. All was still. 
The echoing vestibule gave back the slide 
Of their loose sandals, and the arrowy beam 
Of moonlight, slanting to the marble floor, 
Lay like a spell of silence in the rooms. 
As Jairus led them on. With hushing steps 
He trod the winding stair ; but ere he touched 
The latchet, from within a whisper came, 
•' Trouble the Master not — for she is dead ! " 
And his faint hand fell nerveless at his side, 
And his step faltered, and his broken voice 
Choked in its utterance ; but a gentle hand 
Was laid upon his arm, and in his ear 
The Saviour's voice sank thrillingly and low, 
" She is not dead — hut sleepeth ! " 

They passed in. 
The spice-lamps in the alabaster urns 
Burned dimly, and the white and fragrant smoke 
Curled indolently on the chamber walls. 
The silken curtains slumbered in their folds — 
Not even a tassel stirring in the air — 
And as the Saviour stood beside the bed. 
And prayed inaudibly, the Ruler heard 
The quickening division of his breath 
As he grew earnest inwardly. There came 
A gradual brightness o'er his calm, sad face ; 
And, drawing nearer to the bed, he moved 
The silken curtains silently apart, 
And looked upon the maiden. 

Like a form 



HEALIXG OF THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 117 

Of matchless sculpture in her sleep she lay — 
The linen vesture folded on her breast, 
And over it her white transparent hands. 
The blood still rosy in their tapering nails. 
A line of pearl ran through her parted lips. 
And in her nostrils, spiritually thin, 
The breathing curve was mockingly like life ; 
And round beneath the faintly- tinted skin 
Ran the light branches of the azure veins ; 
And on her cheek the jet lash overlay, 
Matching the arches pencilled on her brow. 
Her hair had been unbound, and falling loose 
Upon her pillow, hid her small round ears 
In curls of glossy blackness, and about 
Her polished neck, scarce touching it, they hung, 
Iiike airy shadows floating as they slept. 
Twas heavenly beautiful. The Saviour raised 
IJer hand from off her bosom, and spread out 
The snowy fingers in his palm, and said, 
" Maiden, arise .'" — and suddenly a flush 
Shot o'er her forehead, and along her lips 
And through her cheek the rallied color ran ; 
And the still outline of her graceful form 
Stirred in the linen vesture ; and she clasped 
The Saviour's hand, and fixing her dark eyes 
Full on his beaming countenance — arose 1 




118 THE SEASONS. 




The Eeasoas. 

Grahame. 



NATURE ! all thy seasons please the eye 
Of him who sees a present Deity in all. 
It is His presence that diffuses charms 
Unspeakable o'er mountain, wood and stream. 
To think that He, who .hears the heavenly choirs, 
Hearkens complacent to the woodland song ; 
To think that He, who rolls yon solar sphere. 
Uplifts the warbling songster to the sky ; 
To mark his presence in the mighty bow 
That spans the clouds as in the tints minute 
Of tiniest flower ; to hear his awful voice 
In thunder speak, and whisper in the gale ; 
To know and feel his care for all that lives ; 
'Tis this that makes the barren waste appear 
A fruitful field, each grove a paradise. 

Yes, place me 'mid far-stretching woodless wilds. 
Where no sweet song is heard ; the heath-bell there 
"Would please my weary sight, and tell of Thee ! 
There would my gratefully uplifted eye 
Survey the heavenly vault, by day, by night. 
When glows the firmament from pole to pole ; 
There Avould my overflowing heart exclaim, 
" The heavens declare the glory of the Lord, 
The firmament shows forth his handiwork." 



THE SEASONS. 119 




8 ^easaois. 

ThorrLScn 



HESE, as they change. Almighty Father, these 
Are but the varied God. Th^ rolling year 
Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing spring 
Thy beauty walks ; thy tenderness and love 
Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm : 
Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; 
And every sense and every heart is joy. 
Then comes thy glory in the summer months. 
With light and heat refulgent. Then *hy sun 
Shoots full perfection through the swelling year; 
Ard oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks, 
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve. 
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales. 
Thy bounty shines in autumn unconfined. 
And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 
In winter, awful thou ! with clouds and storms 
Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled, 
Majestic darkness, on the whirlwind's wing, 
Riduig sublime, thou bidd'st the world adore, 
And humblest nature with thy northern blaet. 



'>4/a^\9^\S^©/'»-. 



120 WEDDIXG GIFTS. 



g ilfts, 




Tupper. 



OUNG bride, — a wreath for thee. 
Of sweet and gentle flowers ; 

For wedded love was pure and free 
In Eden's happy bowers. 

Young bride, — a song for thee, 
A song of joyous measure, 

For thy cup of hope shall be 
Filled with honeyed pleasure. 

Young bride, — a tear for thee, 
A tear in all thy gladness ; 

For thy young heart shall not see 
Joy unmixed with sadness. 

Young bride, — a smile for thee, 
To shine away thy sorrow, 

For Heaven is kind to-day, and we 
Will hope as well to-morrow. 

Young bride, — a prayer for thee. 
That all thy hopes possessing, 

Thy soul may praise her God, and he 
May crown thee with his blessing. 



BRIXG FLOAVERS. 121 



Bdag Flowers. 



J\drs. Hemans. 

•m"- — - - . 



'^<r\M) RING flowers, young flowers, for the festal board, 




To wreathe the cup ere the wine is poured ; 
Bring flowers ! they are springing in wood and 

vale. 
Their breath floats out on the southern gale ; 
And the torch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose, 
To deck the hall where the bright wine flows. 

Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path ; 
He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath ; 
He comes with the spoils of nations back, 
The vines lie crushed in his chariot's track, 
The turf looks red where he won the day — 
Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way. 

Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell ; 
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell, 
Of the free blue streams and the glowing sky, 
And the bright world shut from his languid eye ; 
They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours. 
And the dream of his youth ; bring him flowers, wild 
flowers. 

Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear ; 
They were born to blush in her shining hair. 
She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth, 
She Lath bid farewell to her father's hearth. 



122 



SOLITUDE. 



Her place is now by another's side — 

Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride. 

Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed, 

A crown for the brow of the early dead ! 

For this through its leaves hath the white rose burst, 

For this in the woods was the violet nursed ; 

Though they smile in vain for what once was ours, 

They a\^ love's last gift ; bring ye flowers, pale flowers. 

Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer ; 

They are nature's ofi"ering, their place is there ; 

They speak of hope to the fainting heart, 

With a voice of promise they come and part ; 

They sleep in dust through the wintry hours, 

They break forth in glory ; bring flowers, bright flowers 



^yron. 




HERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society where none intrudes 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar. 
I love not man the less, but nature more. 
From these our interviews in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before. 
To mingle with the universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 



FOR a' that and a' THAT. 123 



foj;* a* tliat aad a' tliat. 



S there, for honest poverty, 

That hangs his head, and a' that; 
©IM^ The coward-slave, we pass him by, 

We dare be poor, for a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toil's obscu-e, and a' that, 
The rank is but t_.e guinea's stamp. 

The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What though on hamely fare we dine, 

W^ear hoddin gray, and a' that ? 
Gi'e fools their silks, and knaves their wine 

A man's a man for a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinsel show and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor. 

Is king o' men, for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord. 

Who struts, and stares, and a' that ; 
Though hundreds worship at his feet, 

He's but a coof for a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 

His ribbon, star, and a' that, 
The man of independent mind. 

He looks and laughs at a' that. 



124 KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM. 

A prince can make a belted knigM, 

A mai'quis, duke, and a' that ; 
Rut an honest man's aboon his might, 

Guid faith he mauna fa' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a' that. 
The pith o' sense and pride o' worth 

Are higher ranks than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may, 

As come it will for a' that, 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth. 

May bear the gree, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

It's coming yet, for a' that, 
That man to man, the warld o'er. 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 



Kaawkdge aad Wisdom. 

Coivper. 

'T^^^ VOWLEDGE and wisdom, far from being one, 
4 y Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dn ells 
i^QXln heads replete with thoughts of other men ; 
(^Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. 
Knowledge — a rude, unprofitable mass. 
The mere materials with which Wisdom builds. 
Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its 
place — 



NOVEMBER. 



125 



Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. 
Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much ; 
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. 



lei^. 



^ryant. 




i/S^^ ET one smile more, departing, distant sun. 

One mellow smile through the soft, vapory air, 
Ere o'er the frozen earth the loud winds run. 
Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare; 
One smile on the brown hills and naked trees. 
And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths 
are cast. 

And the blue gentian flower, that in the breeze 
Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last. 
Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee 

Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way, 
The cricket chirp upon the russet lea. 

And man delight to linger in thy ray. 
Vet one rich smile, and we will try to bear 
The piercing \v 'jiter frost, and winds, and darkened air. 



— 6Ss-'55'*J2S=>«w 




126 THE TRIMROSE OF THE KOCK. 



Th% Fnmrase of th% Eo^k, 

Wordszuo7i:h. 



KOCK there is whose homely front 
The passing traveller slights ; 
Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps, 
^CSlffl) Like stars, at various heights, 
And one coy primrose to that rock 
The vernal breeze invites. 

"What hideous warfare hath been waged, 

What kingdoms overthrown, 
Since first I spied that primrose tuft, 

And marked it for my own ! 
A lasting link in nature's chain. 

From highest heaven let down. 

The flowers, still faithful to the stems, 

Their fellowship renew ; 
The stems are faithful to the root, 

That worketh out of view ; 
And to the rock the root adheres. 

In every fibre true. 

Close clings ^o earth the living rock. 
Though threatening still to fall ; 

The earth is constant to her sphere, 
And God upholds them all ; 



THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK. 127 

So blooms this lonely plant, nor dreads 

Her annual funeral. 

* * * * 

Heie closed the meditative strain ; 

But air breathed soft that day, 
The hoary mountain heights were cheered, 

The sunny vale looked gay ; 
And to the primrose of the rock 

I gave this after-lay. 

I sang, Let myriads of bright flowers, 

Like thee, in field and grove 
Retrieve unenvied, mightier far 

Than tremblings that reprove 
Our vernal tendencies to hope 

Li God's redeeming love — 

That love which changed, for wan disease. 

For sorrow, that hath bent 
O'er hopeless dust, for withered age. 

Their moral element. 
And turned the thistles of a curse 

To types beneficent. 

Sin-blighted though we are, we too, 

The reasoning sons of men. 
From one oblivious winter called. 

Shall rise, and breathe again ; 
And in eternal summer lose 

Our threescore years and ten. 

To humbleness of heart descends 
This prescience from on high, 



128 OVER THE RIVER. 



The faith that elevates the just 

Before and Avhen they die, 
Ajid makes each soul a separate heaven, 

A court for Deity. 



IF tLa Elver. 

JTancy Jl. W. (Priest. 



VER the river they beckon to me, 

Loved ones who've crossed to the farther side ; 
The gleam of the snowy robes I see, 

But their voices are drowned by the rushing fide. 
There's one with ringlets of sunny gold. 

And eyes, the reflection of heaven's own blue ; 
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, 

And the pale mist hid him from metal view; 
We saw not the angels that met him there, 
The gates of the city we could not see ; 
Ovei the river, over the river. 
My brother stands waiting to welcome me. 

Over the river the boatman pale 

Carried another, the household pet ; 
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale — 

Darling Minnie, I see her yet. 
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands. 

And fearlessly entered the phantom bark ; 




OVER THE RIVER. 129 



We watched it glide from the silver sands. 
And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. 

We know she is safe on the farther side, 
Where all the ransomed and angels be ; 

Over the river, the mystic river, 

My childhood's angel is waiting for me. 

For none return from those spirit shores 

Who cross with the boatman cold and pale ; 
We hear the dip of the golden oars. 

And catch a gleam of the snowy sail ; 
And lo ! they have passed from our yearning hearts, 

They cross the stream and are gone for aye ; 
We may not sunder the veil apart 

That hides from our visions the gates of day. 
We only know that their barks no more 

May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ; 
Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore 

They watch and beckon and wait for me. 

And I sit and think when the sunset's gold 

Is flushing river and hill and shore, 
I shall one day stand by the water cold, 

And list for the sound of the boatman's oar ; 
And when perchance the well-known hail 

Again shall echo along the strand, 
I shall pass from sight, with the boatman pale, 

To the better shore of the spirit land. 
I shall know the loved v/ho have gone before, 

And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, 
\Mien over the river, the peaceful river, 

The angel of death shall carry me. 



130 FALL OF THE INDIAN. 

Soaotadm^ Lmas ©f th% **FaII of tli© 

J/[cLellan. 



\u.'' 




^f^ ET sometimes, in the gay and noisy street 
Of the great city, which usurps the place 
Of the small Indian village, one shall see 
Some miserable relic of that race 
Whose sorely-tarnished fortunes we have sung ; 
Yet how debased and fallen ! In his eye 
The flame of noble daring is gone out. 
And his brave face has lost its martial look ; 
His eye rests on the earth, as if the grave 
Were his sole hope, his last and only home. 
A poor, thin garb is wrapped about his frame, 
Whose sorry plight but mocks his ancient state ; 
And in the bleak and pitiless storm he walks 
With melancholy brow, and shivers as he goes. 
His pride is dead ; his courage is no more ; 
His name is but a by-word. All the tribes 
Who called this mighty continent their own 
Are homeless, friendless wanderers on earth. 





WHEX I AM DEAD. 131 



^h^u I Am Deade 

Emmajlliae ^roivne. 
— »-s'Sfte< — 

HEN my last sunset is under a cloud. 



1^ ^Let not your sorrow be bitter nor loud, 
>y/i But strew some pale violets over my shroud. 
When I am dead. 



For while the worn watchers are out of the room, 
And children are searching the gardens for bloom 
You will come in and kiss me, to lessen the gloom, 
When I am dead. 

Smooth the dark tresses from my white cheek, 
Press down my eyelids so mournfully meek, 
And tread very softly, but fear not to speak 

Because I am dead. 

Kneel by me, Allan, and murmur a prajer, 
Clasping my two hands, so slender and fair. 
And through the bleak silence thy voice I shall hear — 
If I be dead. 

Weep not for me, though so early away 

From all the wild joyance of life's sunny May ; 

Think of me often, but, sweet, never say, 

Alas ! she is dead. 

Though a pale face at twilight, Allan, no more 
Shall part the June splendors away from the door, 
To watch for your shadow across the wild moor, 
When I am dead. 



132 



OUR COLORS AT FORT SUMTER. 



When the red summers in loveliness break, 
Come to the grave that the strangers shall make, 
And smile that so sweetly my slumber I take — 
Peaceful and dead. 

The picture I gave you last harvest time, keep ; 

Look at it, Allan, but never to weep, 

For her sake, who so calmly has fallen asleep 

In the house of the dead. 

Now kiss me, my Allan, and leave me alone, 
Nigher the waves of the sorrowful moan. 
And I see the white splendors that fall from the throne 
Where none ever are dead. 



zldrioh. 



— »-S?Be<— 




ERE'S to the Hero of Moultrie, 
The valiant and the true ; 

True to our flag, by land and sea — 
Long may it wave for you. 

May never traitor's touch pollute 
Those colors of the sky ; 

We want them pure, to wrap about 
Our heroes when they die ! 



TWO HUNDRED YEARS. 133 




Two liiadredl Years. 

(Pierpcrd. 

WO hundred years ! — two hundred years ! 

How much of human power and pride. 
What glorious hopes, what gloomy fears. 

Have sunk beneath their noiseless tide ! 

The red man, at his horrid rite. 

Seen by the stars at night's cold noon. 
His bark canoe its track of light 

Left on the wave beneath the moon, — 

His dance, his yell, his council fire, 

The altar where his victim lay, 
His death-song, and his funeral pyre. 

That still, strong tide hath borne away. 

And that pale pilgrim band is gone. 
That on this shore with trembling trod, 

Ready to faint, yet bearing on 
The ark of freedom and of God. 

And war — that since o'er ocean came, 
And thundered loud from yonder hill, 

And wrapped its foot in sheets of flame 
To blast that ark — its storm is still. 

Chief, sachem, sage, bards, heroes, seers, 

That live in story and in song. 
Time, for the last two hundred years, 

Has raised, and shown, and swept along. 



i:U 



OXK HEAKTS ENOUGH FOR ME. 



'Tis like a dream when one awakes — 
This vision of the scenes of old ; 

'Tis like the moon when morning breaks, 
Tis like a tale round watch-fires told. 

God of our fathers, — in whose sight 
The thousand years that sweep away 

Man, and the traces of his might, 

Are but the break and close of day, — 

Grant us that love of truth sublime, 
That love of goodness and of thee. 

Which makes thy children, in all time, 
To share thine own eternity. 



^h far 



Jiugxbcte J\^ignon,. 




NE heart's enough for me — 

One heart to love, adore — 
One heart's enough for me ; 

O, who could wish for more ? 
The birds that soar above, 

And sing their songs on high, 
Ask but for one to love. 

And therefore should not I ? 



AOPRESS TO THE COMET. 135 

One pair of eyes to gaze 

One pair of sparkling blue. 
In which sweet love betrays 

Her form of fairest hue ; 
One pair of glowing cheeks, 

Fresh as the rose and fair, 
Whose crimson blush bespeaks 

The health that's native there. 

One pair of hands to twine 

Love's flowers fair and gay. 
And form a wreath divine, 
Which never can decay ; 
And this is all I ask, 

One gentle form and fair — • 
Beneath whose smiles to bask. 

And learn love's sweetness there. 




iss to tfiie 



RT thou the same mysterious traveller. 
That in our last bright circuit of the sun 
Paid visit to our gaze. 
And woke up mixed surprise — 
Filling the many with an awful dread, 
The few with deep delight ? 



13(3 ADDRESS TO THE COMET. 

Art thou the same returned with reenforce 
Of heavenly ammunition — light and heat, 
Which in thy last campaign 
'Gainst other worlds was spent. 
Ere thou hadst meditated war on us ? 
Hast thou been back to where 

The storehouse of the thunderbolt is kept. 

And steeped thy long hair in the lightning stream 

That round it ever flows. 

Keeping it prisoner there 
Till the destroying angel lifts the sluice 

To pour both on some world ? 

Or art thou on a kindly mission sent ? — 
Or on thy own research a wandering orb. 

Curious to see in which 

Of all the breathing stars 
The happiest Eden was by folly lost ? 

If so, come not to us ! 

Thou'lt find no remnants of that blissful place 
Where we imagine our first kindred dwelt — 

Dreary and desolate 

Is all around it now ! — 
Turn — turn away, and give us not to fear 

Of thy consuming touch ! 



— -^s-S^^i^**^ 



TO A POET WHO DIED OV WANT. 137 




-'<^^ 



T © a Foet wlio died ©f Waat. 

fTBOM THK GERMAN OF UHLllfD, 

i. Filmore. 

LIFE of struggle, grief, and pain, 

Fate had appointed thee ; 
And death in want hath snapped the chain 
^ Linked life to misery. 

The Muses came — a glorious throng — 
Around thy infant bed ; 
They touched thy lips with golden 60ng, 
But, ah ! denied them bread ! 

Thy mother from thee early died. 

And thou didst find it vain 
To hope from any heart beside 

For love like hers again. 

Round thee the world its treasures spread 

In overflow of blessing, 
But ever from thy grasp they fled 

For other men's possessing. 

Spring with its blossoms made thee blest — 
Its bowers were dreams to thee ; 

But autumn's grape another pressed — 
Another stripped its tree. 



138 woman's love. 



And often thou thy thirst hast slfiked, 

Thy cup with water filled, 
While echoes, by thy songs awaked. 

Through halls of feasting thrilled. 

Amid the busy world you walked 
As though it were not thine, 

And to unlistening ears you talked 
A language too divine. 

When borne unto thy mortal rest, 
How frail thy corse will be ! 

Lightly thy foot the earth has pressed, 
Light lie its dust on thee ! 



_finon. 

AN kuows not love — such love as woman feels, 
h) In him it is a vast devouring flame — 
U' Resistless fed — in its own strength consumed. 
In woman's heart it enters step by step, 
Concealed, disowned, until its gentler ray 
Breathes forth a light, illumining her world. 
Man loves not for repose ; he wooes the flower 
To wear it as the victor's trophied crown ; 
Whilst woman, when she glories in her love, 
More like the dove, in noiseless constancy, 
Watches the nest of her affection till 
*Ti8 shed upon the tomb of him she loves. 





THE I'.RTPGE OF SIGHS. lol* 



Hood. 



NE more unfortunate. 
Weary of breath. 

Rashly importunate. 
Gone to her death ! 

Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care ; 

Fashioned so slenderly, 
Young and so fair I 



Look at her garments 
Clinging like cerements ; 

Whilst the wave constantly 
Drips from her clothing ; 

Take her up instantly. 
Loving, not loathing, — 

Touch her not scornfully ! 
Think of her mournfully, 

Gently and humanly. 
Not of the stains of her ; 
All that remains of her 

Now, is pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutiny 
Into her mutiny, 
Rash and undutiful ; 



140 THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 



Past all dishonor, 

Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful. 

Still for all slips of hers, 

One of Eve's family — 
Wipe those poor lips of hers 

Oozing so clammily. 
Loop up her tresses 

Escaped from the comb, 
Her fair auburn tresses ; 
Whilst wonderment guesses. 

Where was her home ? ■ 

Who was her father ? 

Who was her mother ? 
Had she a sister ? 

Had she a brother ? 
Or was there a dearer one 
Still, and a nearer one 

Yet, than all other ? 

Alas ! for the rarity 
Of Christian charitj 

Under the sun I 
! it was pitiful, 
Near a whole city full, 

Home she had none. 

Sisterly, brotherly. 
Fatherly, motherly 

Feelings had changed ; 



THK BRIUGK OK SIGHS. 141 

Love, by harsh evidence, 
Thrown from its eminence, 
Even God's providence 
Seeming estranged. 

Where the lamps quiver 
So far in the river, 

With many a light 
From window and casement. 
From garret to basement, 
She stood, with amazement. 

Houseless by night. 

The bleak wind of March 

Made her tremble and shiver; 
But not the dark arch. 

Or the black flowing river ; 
Mad from life's history. 
Glad to death's mystery 

Swift to be hurled — 
Any where, any where 

Out of the world ! 

In she plunged boldly. 
No matter how coldly 

The rough river ran. 
Over the brink of it ; 
Picture it — think of it, 

Dissolute man I 
Lave in it, drink of it. 

Then, if you can. 



142 TIIK lUaDC.K OK SIGHS. 

Take her up tenderly. 
Lift her with care ; 

Fashioned so slenderly. 
Young, and so fair ! 

Ere her limbs frigidly 
Stiffen too rigidly, 

Decently, kindly, 
Smooth and compose them ; 
And her eyes, close them. 

Staring so blindly ! 

Dreadfully staring, 

Through muddy impurity. 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing, 
Fixed on futurity. 

Perishing gloomily. 

Spurned by contumely. 
Burning insanity. 
Cold inhumanity. 

Into her rest. 

Cross her hands humbly. 
As if praying dumbly. 

Over her breast. 

Owning her weakness. 
Her evil behavior, 

And leaving, with meekness. 
Her sins to her Saviour. 



TiiK roET drea:mt ov iieavex, 



143 




T&e Foe! dreamt of EiaYea. 

Jlnon,. 

HE poet dreamt of Heaven ! 

He strayed, a little child amidst the glen 
Where in his boyhood he'd been wont to stray ; 

He heard the very sounds he loved so then, 
And knew the very forms. 'Twas in this way 
The poet dreamt of Heaven. 

The mother dreamt of Heaven ! 

She saw her children decked in gems and flowers ; 
And one, whose health had always been amiss. 

Was blooming now in those celestial bowers 
He laughed to roam among. And dreaming this. 
The mother dreamt of Heaven ! 

Her children dreamt of Heaven ! 

O, 'twas a glorious land, where daisies grew. 
And hidden music round it sounded low ; 

And playtime lasted there the whole year through, 
And angels came and joined with them. 'Twas so 
Her children dreamt of Heaven ! 

The traveller dreamt of Heaven ! 

The sun once more with trebled splendor rose, 
And o'er the scene its shadows cast 

Where all was taintless joy and calm repose, 
And quiet thinking of the dangerous past. 
He said its name was Heaven I 



144 ON THE SEA. 



The mourner dreamt of Heaven ! 

Before his eyes, so long with sorrow dim, 
A glorious sheen, like lengthened lightning, hlazed ; 

And from the clouds one face looked down on him, 
Whose beauty thrilled his veins. And as he gazed 
He knew he gazed on Heaven ! 

And all dream on ! 

Heaven's for the pure, the just, the undefiled ; 
And so our lives, by holy faith, are such. 

Our dreams may be erroneous, varying, wild ; 
But O, we cannot think and hope too much. 
So let them all dream on I 



^ayard -laylor. 




HE pathway of the sinking moon 

Fades from the silent bay ; 
The mountain isles loom large and faint, 

Folded in shadows gray, 
And the lights of land are setting stars 

That soon will pass away. 



O boatman, cease thy mellow song, 

O minstrel, drop thy lyre ; 
Let us hear the voice of the midnight sea. 

Let us speak as the waves inspire, 




" The mountain isles loom large and faint, 
Folded in shadows gray." — Page 144. 




THE SOUL. 145 

While the plashy dip of the languid oar 
Is a furrow of silver fire. 

Day cannot make thee half so fair, 

Nor the stars of eve so dear ; 
The arms that clasp, and the breast that keeps, 

They tell me thou art near. 
And the perfect beauty of thy face 

In thy murmured words I hear. 

The lights of land have dropped below 

The vast and glimmering sea ; 
The world we have is a tale that is told, — 

A fable that cannot be. 
There is no life in the sphery dark 

But the Icve in thee and me. 



^ddison. 



HE Soul, secure in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point ; 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 

Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; 

But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 

Unhurt amid the war of elements. 

The ^^^reck of matter, and the crush of worlds. 




146 THK PHAYER OF XATL'KE. 






ATHER of Light ! great God of Heaven, 
Hear'st thou the accents of despair ? 

Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven ? 
Can vice atone for crimes by prayer ? 

Father of Light, on thee I call; 

Thou seest my soul is dark within ; 
Thou, who canst mark the sparrow's f;\ll, 

Avert from me the death of sin. 

No shrine I seek to sects unknown ; 

O, point to me the path of truth ; 
Thy dread omnipotence I own ; 

Spare, yet amend, the faults of youth. 

Let bigots rear a gloomy fane. 

Let superstition hail the pile, 
Let priests, to spread their sable reign, 

With tales of mystic rites beguile. 

Shall man confine his Maker's sway 

To Gothic domes of mouldering stone.? 

Thy temple is the face of day ; 

Earth, ocean, heaven thy boundless throne. 

Shall man condemn his race to hell 
Unless they bend in pompous form ; 



THE PRAYER OF NATURE. 141 



Tell US that all, for one who fell. 
Must perish in the mingling storm ? 

Shall each pretend to reach the skies. 

Yet doom his brother to expire. 
Whose soul a different hope supplies. 

Or doctrines less severe inspire ? 

Shall these, by creeds they can't expound, 

Prepare a fancied bliss or woe ? 
Shall reptiles, grovelling on the ground. 

Their great Creator's purpose know ? 

Shall those who live for self alone, 

Whose years float on in daily crime, — 

Shall they by faith for guilt atone, 
And live beyond the bounds of time ? 

Father ! no prophet's laws I seek ; 

Thy laws in Nature's works appear ; — 
' I own myself corrupt and weak ; 

Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear ! 

Thou, who canst guide the wandering star 
Through trackless realms of ether's space ; 

Who calm'st the elemental war. 

Whose hand from pole to pole I trace ; — 

Thou, who in wisdom placed me here, 

Who, when thou wilt, can take me hence, - 

Ah ! while I tread this earthly sphere, 
Extend to me thy wide defence. 



148 



IX REVERIE. 



To thee, my God, to thee I call ! 

Whatever weal or woe betide. 
By thy command I rise or fall ; 

In thy protection I confide. 

If, when this dust to dust restored, 

My soul shall float on airy wing. 
How shall thy glorious name adored 

Inspire her feeble voice to sing ! 

But, if this fleeting spirit share 
With clay the grave's eternal bed. 

While life yet throbs I raise my prayer, 
Though doomed no more to quit the dead. 

To thee I breathe my humble strain, 

Grateful for all thy mercies past. 
And hope, my God, to thee again 

This erring life may fly at last. 

Harriet J\£aEiven KhmJyxll 




N the west, the weary Day 

Folds its amber wings and dies ; 

Night, the long delaying Night 
Walks abroad in starry guise. 

Rest more precious than a sleep, 
Silence sweeter than a dream, — 



THE TEMPEST. 



149 



These enfold me as I float. 
Idle waif on idle stream. 

In the rippling trees I hear 

Flowing waves and dipping oars ; 

And beloved voices near 

Seem to steal from fading shores. 

Fainter, fainter, fainter still. 

By no breath of passion crossed, 

With the tide I drift and glide 
Out to sea — and all is lost. 



v^^'^^^f^^s.^s^ 



IM Temp^est, 



— 2-5^9s^— 



James T. Fieldc 




E were crowded in the cabin ; 
^ Not a soul would dare to speak ; 
It was midnight on the waters. 
And a storm was on the deep. 

'Tis a fearful thing in winter 
To be shattered in the blast, 

And to hear the rattling trumpet 
Thunder, " Cut away the mast I " 

So we shuddered there in silence, 
For the stoutest held his breath , 



150 THE PRINCESS. 



While the angry sea was roaring, 
And the breakers talked with Death. 

And thus we sat in darkness, 
Each one busy in his prayers : 

** We are lost ! " the captain shouted, 
As he staggered down the stairs. 

But his little daughter whispered. 

As she took his icy hand, 
•' Is not God upon the ocean 

Just the same as on the land ? " 

Then we kissed the little maiden, 
And we spoke in better cheer. 

And we anchored safe in harbor, 
When the morn was shining clear. 



Ffam *"fb,@ Frmaese. 



zz 



Tennyson. 




EARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean. 
^ Tears from the depth of some divine despair 

Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes, 
In looking on the happy autumn fields. 
And thinking of the days that are no more. 

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail. 
That brings our friends up from the under world. 



JOE. 151 

Sad as the last which reddens over one 
That sinks with all we love below the verge ! 
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. 

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns 

The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds 

To dying ears, when unto dyiiig eyes 

The casement slowly grows a glimmering square ; 

So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. 

Dear as remembered kisses after death, 
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned 
On lips that are for others ; deep as love, 
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret ; 
O Death in Life, the days that are no more. 

Joe. 

JRhert Laig-hion. 



LL day long, with a vacant stare, 
Along in the chilling autumn air. 
With naked feet, he wanders slow 
Over the city — the idiot Joe ! 

I often marvel why he was born, 
A child of humanity thus forlorn. 

Unloved, unnoticed by all below ; 
A cheerless thing is the life of Joe ! 




H 



152 JOE. 

Beauty can throw no spell o'er him ; 
His inner vision is weak and dim, 
And Nature in all her varied show 
Weareth no charm for the eyes of Joe. 

Earth may Avake at the kiss of spring. 
Flowers may blossom and birds may sing ; 
With joy the crystal streams may flow ; 
They never make glad the heart of Joe. 

His vague and wandering thoughts enfold 
No dreams of glory, no schemes for gold ; 
He knows not the blight of hopes, yet, O, 
A blighted thing is the life of Joe ' 

Who would not suffer the ills of life. 
Its numberless wrongs, its sin and strife, 
And willingly bear its weight of woe, 
Rather than be the idiot Joe ? 

I think of him in the silent night. 
When every star seems a beacon light, 
To guide us wanderers here below 
To the better land — the home of Joe. 

For He who hears when the ravens caUj . 
And watches even the sparrow's fall — 
He, in his measureless love, I know, 
Will kindly care for the soul of Joe. 




THE DYING ALCHEMIST. 153 

Willis. 

HE night wind with a desolate moan swept by ; 
And the old shutters of the turret swung 
Screaming upon their hinges ; and the moon, 
As the torn edges of the clouds flew past, 
Struggled aslant the stained and broken panes 
So dimly, that the watchful eye of death 
Scarcely was conscious when it went and came. 
The fire beneath bis crucible was low ; 
Yet still it burned ; and ever as his thoughts 
'iTrew insupportable, he raised himself 
Upon his wasted arm, and stirred the coals 
With difficult energy ; and when the rod 
Fell from his nerveless fingers, and his eye 
Felt faint within its socket, he shrunk back 
Upon his pallet, and with unclosed lips 
Muttered a curse on death ! The silent room, 
From its dim corners, mockingly gave back 
His rattling breath ; the humming in the fire 
Had the distinctness of a knell ; and when 
Duly the antique horologe beat one, 
He drew a phial from his breast. 
And drank. And instantly his lips compressed, 
And, with a shudder in his skeleton frame. 
He rose with supernatural strength, and sat 
Upright, and communed with himself: — 

I did not think to die 
Till I had finished what I had to do , 



154 THE DYING ALCHEMIST. 

I thought to pierce th' eternal secret through 

"With this my mortal eye ; 
I felt — God ! it seemeth even now 
This cannot be the death-dew on my brow. 

And yet it is — I feel 
Of this dull sickness at my heart, afraid ; 
And in my eyes the death-sparks flash and fade ; 

And something seems to steal 
Over my bosom like a frozen hand, 
Binding its pulses with an icy ,band. 

And this is death ! But why 
Feel I this wild recoil ? It cannot be 
Th' immortal spirit shuddereth to be free ! 

Would it not leap to fly. 
Like a chained eaglet at its parent's call ? 
I fear — I fear — that this poor life is all. 

Yet thus to pass aAvay ! 
To live but for a hope that mocks at last ; 
To agonize, to strive, to watch, to fast, 

To waste the light of day, 
Night's better beauty, feeling, fancy, thought, 
All that we have and are — for this — for nought. 

Grant me another year, 
God of my spirit ! but a day, to win 
Something to satisfy this thirst within. 

I would know something here. 
Break for me but one seal that is unbroken ! 
Speak for me but one word that is unspoken ! 



TITK DYING ALCHEMIST. 15.3 

Vain, vain ! my brain is turning 
With a SAvift dizziness, and my heart grows sick, 
And these hot temple-throbs come fast and thick, 

And I am freezing, burning. 
Dying. God, if I might only live ! 
My phial — ha ! it thrills me ; I revive. 

Ay, were not man to die, 
He were too mighty for this narrow sphere. 
Had he but time to brood on knowledge here, 

Could he but train his eye. 
Might he but wait the mystic word and hour, 
Only his Maker would transcend his power. 

Earth has no mineral strange, 
Th' illimitable air no hidden wings, 
Water no quality in covert springs. 

And fire no power to change ; 
Seasons no mystery, and stars no spell. 
Which the unwasting soul might not compel. 

O, but for time to track 
The upper stars into the pathless sky, 
To see th' invisible spirits, eye to eye. 

To hurl the lightning back. 
To tread unhurt the sea's dim-lighted halls, 
To chase Day's chariot to the horizon walls, — 

And more, much more ; for now 
The life sealed fountains of my nature move, 
To nurse and purify this human love ; 



156 THE DYIXG ALCHEMIST. 

To clear the godlike brow 
Of weakness and distrust, and bow it down, 
Worthy and beautiful, to the much-loved one. 

This were indeed to feel 
The soul-thirst slaken at the living stream ; 
To live — O God ! that life is but a dream ! 

And death — aha ! I reel — 
Dim — dim — I faint ! darkness comes o'er my eye 
Cover me ! save me. God of heaven ! I die ! 

'Twas morning, and the old man lay alone. 

No friend had closed his eyelids, and his lips, 

Open and ashy pale, th' expression wore 

Of his death struggle. His long, silvery hair 

Lay on his hollow temples thin and wild ; 

His frame was wasted, and his features wan 

And haggard as with want, and in his palm 

His nails were driven deep, as if the throe 

Of the last agony had wrung him sore. 

The storm was raging still. The shutters swung, 

Screaming as harshly in the fitful wind. 

And all without went on, as aye it Avill, 

Sunshine or tempest, reckless that a heart 

Is breaking, or has broken, in its change. 

The fire beneath the crucible was out ; 
The vessels of his mystic art lay round, 
Useless and cold as the ambitious hand 
That fashioned them, and the small rod, 
Familiar to his touch for threescore years. 



THE PLEASURES OF HOPE. 157 

Lay on th' alembic's rim, as if it still 
Might vex the elements at its master's will. 

And thus had passed from its unequal frame 
A soul of fire — a sun-bent eagle stricken 
From his high soaring down — an instrument 
Broken with its own compass. O, how poor 
Seems the rich gift of genius, when it lies. 
Like the adventurous bird that hath outflown 
His strength upon the sea, ambition-wrecked — 
A thing the thrush might pity, as she sits 
Brooding in quiet on her lowly nest ! 



a FteasTO©s of Eop @. 



Campbell. 



— -t-^^^Ayd-- 




IS summer eve, when heaven's ethereal bow 
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below 
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye. 
Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky ? 
Why do these cliffs of shadowy tint appear 
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ? 
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view. 
And robes the mountain in its azure hue. 
Thus, with delight, we linger to survey : 
The promised joy of life's unmeasured scene 
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been ; 
And every form that Fancy can repair, 
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. 



158 




^ryant. 
— »-^^e<— 

HERE, through the long, long summer hours, 

The golden light should lie. 
And thick young herbs and groups of flowers 

Stand in their beauty by. 
The oriole should build and tell 
His love-tale close beside my cell ; 

The idle butterfly 
Should rest him there, and there be heard 
The housewife-bee and humming-bird. 

And what, if cheerful shouts, at noon, 

Come from the village sent, 
Or songs of maids, beneath the moon, 

With fairy laughter blent ? 
And what if, in the evening light. 
Betrothed lovers walk in sight 

Of my low monument ? 
I would the lovely scene around 
Might know no sadder sight or sound. 

I know, I know I should not se^ 

The season's glorious show. 
Nor would its brightness shine for me, 

Nor its wild music flow ; 
But if, around my place of sleep. 
The friends I love should come to weep, 

They might not haste to go. 



THE VILLAGE PREACHER. li)9 

Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom 
Should keep them lingering by my tomb. 

These to their softened hearts should bear 

The thought of what has been, 
And speak of one who cannot share 

The gladness of the scene ; 
Whose part in all the pomp that fills 
The circuit of the summer hills, 

Is, that his grave is green ; 
And deeply would their hearts rejoice 
To hear again his living voice. 



Goldsynith. 



EAR yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 

\\Jri\ And still where many a garden-flower grows wild, 

► Therr, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 

The \illage preacher's modest mansion rose. 

A man he was to all the country dear. 

And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 

Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place ; 
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour : 




160 THE VILLAGE PREACHER. 

Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train ; 
He chid iheir wanderings, but relieved their pain ; 
The loDg-reraembered beggar was his guest, 
"Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 
The ruined spend*:hrift, now no longer proud. 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed ; 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. 
Sat by his fire, and talked the night away ; 
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done. 
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the Avretched was his pride. 
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; 
But, in his duty prompt at every call, 
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged off"spring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 
Beside the bed where partiug life was laid, 
And sorrow, guilt, aud pain, by turus dismayed, 
The reverend champiou stood. At his control, 
Despair aud auguish fled the struggliug soul ; 
Comfort came dowu the trembling wretch to raise, 
Aud his last, faltering accents whispered praise. 



HE LIASES LONG "WHO LIVES WELL. IGl 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 

His looks adorned the venerable place ; 

Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway. 

And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 

The service past, around the pious man, 

With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 

E'en children followed with endearing wile. 

And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile; 

His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed ; 

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed ; 

To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 

But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form. 

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm. 

Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 

Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 



k Lives Lsaf wM Lives Well. 

ft OULDST thou live long ? The only means 
^ are these — 

I. 'Bove Galen's diet, or Hippocrates' : 
Strive to live well ; tread iu the upright waj's, 
Aud rather count thy actions than thy daj's : 
Then thou hast lived euough araougst us here, 
For every day well spent I couut a year. 
Live well, aud then, how soon soe'er thou die, 
Thou art of age to claim eternity. 




162 FAIR mES. 



But he that outlives Nestor, and appears 

To have passed the date of gray Methuselah's yeais, 

If he his life to sloth and sin doth give, 

I say he only vtas — he did not live. 



Hood. 




SAW ye not fair Ines ? 

She's gone into the west, 
To dazzle when the sun is down, 

And rob the world of rest ; 
She took our daylight with her, 

The smiles that we love best, 
With morning blushes on her cheek. 

And pearls upon her breast. 

O, turn again, fair Ines, 

Before the fall of night, 
For fear the moon should shine alone, 

And stars unrivalled bright ; 
And blessed will the lover be 

That walks beneath their light. 
And breathes the love against thy cheek 

I dare not even write. 

Would I had been, fair Ines, 

That gallant cavalier 
Who rode so gayly by thy side, 

And whispered thee so near ; 



FAIR INES. 1G3 



Were there no bonny dames at home, 

Or no true lovers here. 
That he should cross the seas to win 

The dearest of the dear ? 

I saw thee, lovely Ines, 

Descend along the shore, 
With bands of noble gentlemen. 

And banners waved before ; 
And gentle youth and maidens gay. 

And snowy plumes they wore ; 
It would have been a beauteous dream, 

If it had been before. 

Alas, alas, fair Ines, 

She went away with song. 
With music waiting on her steps. 

And shoutings of the throng ; 
But some were sad and felt no mirth, 

But only Music's wrong. 
In sounds that sang, Farewell, farewell 

To her you've loved so long. 

Farewell, farewell, fair Ines ; 

That vessel never bore 
So fair a lady on its deck, 

Nor danced so light before ; 
Alas for pleasure on the sea, 

And sorrow on the shore ; 
The smile that blest one lover's heart 

Has broken many more. 



164 



THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. 



e iraTis of a Eotise 




J\'^r::. Ueinans 




HEY grew in beauty side by side, 
They filled one home with glee ; 

Their graves are severed, far and widCj 
By mount, and stream, and sea. 

The same fond mother bent at night 
O'er each fair sleeping brow ; 
She had each folded flower in sight — 
Where are those dreamers now ? 



One, 'midst the forest of the west, 

By a dark stream is laid — 
The Indian knows his place of rest, 

Far in the cedar shade. 

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one — 

He lies where pearls lie deep ; 
He was the loved of all, yet none 

O'er his low bed may weep. 

One sleeps where southern vines are dressed, 

Above the noble slain ; 
He wrap^ ed his colors round his breast 

On a blood-red field of Spain. 

And one — o'er her the myrtle showers 
Its leaves, by soft winds fanned ; 

She faded 'midst Italian flowers, 
The last of that brisrht band. 



165 



And parted thus they rest, who played 
Beneath the same green tree ; 

Whose voices mingled as they prayed 
Around one parent knee ! 

They that with smiles lit up the hall. 
And cheered with song the hearth — 

Alas ! for love, if thou wert all, 
And nought beyond, O earth ! 




finon. 

HE spark of life is like a spark of 'fire ; 

It flasheth forth its beauty, and is gone ; 
So dies the minstrel, 'leaving Fancy's lyre 

Bereft of heart, and chords, and song, and tune ; 

Silent, because it cannot sing alone. 
Meanwhile, all those who loved it mourn and weep 
For loss of him with whom it could not sleep. 

Yet leaves he pearls behind — a glorious name, 
That time would fear to kill, so passt th by ; 

A dearly cherished memory, a fame 
Forbid by immortality to die. 
The crown for which a world of poets sigh ; 

A fairy tree, which he alone could find, 

From whence he plucked the bay leaves of the mind. 



166 THE OPENING OF THE PIAXO. 



Jitlantio Jlonthly. 

N the little southern parlor of the house you may 
■41 P have seen 

^]J^ With the gambrel roof and the gable looking wett- 
Avard to the green, 
At the side toward the sunset, with the window on 

its right. 
Stood the London-made piano I am dreaming of 
to-night. 

Ah me ! how I remember the evening when it came ! 
What a cry of eager voices ! what a group of cheeks in 

flame ! 
When the wondrous box was opened that had come from 

over seas. 
With its smell of mastic varnish and its flash of ivory 

keys ! 

Then the children all grew fretful in the restlessness of joy, 
For the boy would push his sister and the sister crowd 

the boy. 
Till the father asked for quiet in his grave, paternal way, 
But (he mother hushed the tumult with the words, " Now, 

Mary, play." 

For the dear soul knew that music was a very sovereign 

balm ; 
She had sprinkled it o'er Sorrow, and seen its brow grow 

calm, 



THE OPENING OF THE PIANO. 107 

In the days of slender harpsichords with the tapping, 

tinkling quills, 
Or carolling to her spinet with its thin metallic thrills. 

So Mary, the household minstrel, who always loved to 
please, 

Sal down to the new " Clementi," and struck the glitter- 
ing keys. 

H ished were the children's voices, and every eye grew dim 

As, floating from lip and finger, arose the "Vesper Hymn." 

Catharine, child of a neighbor, curly and rosy-red. 
Wedded since and a widow, — something like ten years 

dead, — 
Hearing a gush of music such as none had heard before, 
Steals from her mother's chamber, and peeps at the open 

door. 

Just as the "Jubilate" in threaded whisper dies, 
" Open it ! open it, lady ! " the little maiden cries, 
(For she thought 'twas a singing creature caged in a box 

she heard;) 
' Open it ! open it, lady, and let me see the bird ! " 



168 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 



Th% BeantlM. 



P,ur-rin£yi.orh. 




f\ ALK with the Beautiful and ^vith the Grand; 
D Let nothing on the earth thy feet deter ; 
Sorrow may lead thee weeping by the hand, 
But give not all thy bosom thoughts to her : 
"Walk with the Beautiful. 



1 hear thee say, " TJie Beautiful ! What is it ?' 
0, thou art darkly ignorant ! Be sure 
'Tis no long, weary road its form to visit ; 

For thou canst make it smile beside thy door : — 
Then love the Beautiful. 

Ay, love it; 'tis a sister that will bless. 

And teach thee patience when the heart is lonely ; 

Tlie angels love it, for they wear its dress ; 
And thou art made a little lower only ; — 
Then love the Beautiful. 

Sigh for it, — clasp it when 'tis in thy way ! 

Be its idolator, as of a maiden ! 
Thy parents bent to it, and more than they ; — 

Be thou its worshipper. Another Eden 
Comes with the Beautiful. 

Some boast its presence in a Grecian face ; 

Some, on a favorite warbler of the skies ; 
But be not foiled ; where'er thine eyes might trace, 

Seeking the Beautiful, it will arise ; — 
Then seek it every where. 



THE BABY, 



1G9 



Thy bosom is its mint ; the workmen are 

1 hy thoughts ; and they must coin for thee : believing 

The Beautiful exists in every star, 

Thou mak'st it so, and art thyself deceiving 
If otherwise thy faith. 

Thou seest Beauty in the violet's cup ; — 

I'll teach thee miracles ! Walk on this heath, 

And say to the neglected flower, " Look up, 
And be thou Beautiful ! " If thou hast faith. 
It will obey thy word. 

One thing I warn thee ; bow no knee to gold ; 

Less innocent it makes the guileless tongue ; 
It turns the feelings prematurely old ; 

And they who keep their best affections young, 
Best love the Beautiful. 

^^^Sf-^-CE^i^J^M — - 



Th% Baby. 



finovj 




NOTHER little wave 
Upon the sea of life ; 
Another soul to save. 
Amid its toils and strife. 

Two more little feet 

To walk the dusty road ; 

To choose where two paths meet, 
The narrow, or the broad. 



170 TO A FRIEXD. 



Two more little hands 
To work for good or ili ; 

Two more little eyes ; 
Another little will. 

Another heart to love, 
Receiving love agam ; 

And so the baby came, 
A thing of joy and pain. 




(T)aruiel jfi. (T)ro'Jun 



S twilight fades upon the west. 

And zephyrs yield their rich bequest 
Of odors to the evening air, 
From leaflets and from flowerets fair, 
So may fresh incense for you rise. 
When time shall shade your future skies. 
To soothe with peace those future years 

When strength grows weak, and hopes and fears, 

As tendrils of the running vine 

Around the oak their grasp entwine, 

To find support to rise on high, 

As if to seek the fair blue sky. 

So may your hopes like ivy cling 

To truth, a constant peace to bring. 



KFFECT OF ORATORY OX A MULTITUDE. 



171 



And bid your faith seek clearer skies, 

Where joy fails not, where sorrow dies 

As gently as the evening breeze 

Soft whispers through the murmuring trees 

As calmly as the crystal tide 

Kisses the pebbles by its side, 

In all your ways appear to all. 

Nor shun the weak, when once they fall ; 

But flowers scatter in the way. 

And cheer their hearts, as best you may. 



Iffeet of ©catory ©a a 



Croly. 




IS words seemed oracles 

That pierced their bosoms ; and each man would 
turn 

And gaze in wonder on his neighbor's face, 

That with the like dumb w^onder answered him ; 

Then some would weep, some shout, some, 
deeper touched, 
Keep down the cry with motion of their hands, 
In fear but to have lost a syllable. 
The evening came, yet there the people stood. 
As if 'twore noon, and they the marble sea. 
Sleeping without a wave. You could have heard 
The beating of your pulses while he spoke. 



172 THE RAVEN. 




Edgar Jl. (Poe. 

NCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, 
weak and weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of for- 
gotten lore, 
^ While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there 
came a tapping. 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my 
chamber door. 
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my cham- 
ber door ; 

Only this, and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, 

And each separate, dying ember wrought its ghost upon 

the floor. 

Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had sought to borrow 

From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost 

Lenore, 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 
Lenore, 

Nameless here forevermore. 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple 

curtain 
Thrilled me, filled me, with fantastic terrors never felt 

before ; 
So that now, to still the beating of my ieart. I stood 

repeating. 



THE RAVEX. 173 

"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chambei 

door, 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chambei 

door ; 

This it is, and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no longer 
" Sir," said I, " or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; 
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came 
rapping, 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my cham- 
ber door, 
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened 
wide the door ; — 

Darkness there, and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, won- 
dering, fearing. 
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to 
dream before ; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no 
token, 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered 

word, " Lenore ; " 
This 1 whispered, and an echo murmured back the 
Mord, " Lenore." 

Merely this, and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my snul within me 
burning, 
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than 
before. 



174 THE RAVEN. 



"Surely," said I, *' surely, that is something at my win- 
dow lattice ; 
Let me see, then, what thereat is. and this mystery 

explore ; 
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery ex- 
plore ; 

'Tis the wind, and nothing more." 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt 
and flutter. 
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days 
of yore. 
Not the least obeisance made he ; not a miuute stopped 
or staid he ; 
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my cham- 
ber door, 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber 
door ; 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy into 
smiling, 
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it 
wore, 
'■' Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, 
"• art sure no craven, 
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the 

Nightly shore. 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Pluco- 
nian shore." 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore." 



THE RAVEN. 175 



Much 1 marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so 
plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore ; 
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human 
being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his cham- 
ber door, 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured" bust above his cham- 
ber door, 

With such name as " Evermore." 

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke 
only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did 
outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered ; not a feather then he 
fluttered ; 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends 

have flown before ; 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have 
flown before." 

Then the bird said, " Nevermore." 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 

" Doubtless*," said I, " what it utters is its only stock 

and store. 

Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful 

disaster 

Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one bur- 

der bore. 
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore, 
Of " Never — nevermore." 



17G' THE RAVEX. 



But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling. 

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and 

bust and door ; 

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of 

yore. 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous 
bird of yore 

Meant in croaking, " Nevermore." 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bo- 
som's core ; 
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease re- 
clining 
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloat- 
ed o'er. 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloat- 
ing o'er. 

She shall press, ah, nevermore. 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an 
unseen censor 
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted 
floor. 
■' Wretch," I cried, " thy God hath lent thee by these 
angels he hath sent thee 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of 

Lenore ! 
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost 
Lenore ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore." 



THE RAVEN. 377 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if 
bird or devil ! 
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee 
here ashore, 
DesoUite, yet all undaunted, on this desert land en- 
chanted, — 
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I im- 
plore — 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, 
I implore ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore," 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil— prophet still, if 
bird or devil ! 
By that heaven that bends above us — by that God we 
both adore — 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant 
Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name 

Lenore — 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name 
Lenore ? " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore." 

" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! " I 
shrieked, upstarting — 
" Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Pluto- 
nian shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath 
spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above 
my door ! 



178 PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form 
from off my door ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore." 

A.nd the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is 
sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber 
door ; 
knd his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is 
dreaming ; 
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow 

on the floor ; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on 
the floor, 

Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 



Jlore 




IKE a gale that sighs along 

Beds of Oriental flowers. 
Is the grateful breath of song 

That once was heard in happier ho\irs ; 
Filled with balm, the gale sighs on, 

Though the flowers are sunk in death ; 
So when pleasure's dream is gone. 

Its memory lives in music's breath. 



REFLECTIONS. 179 



i 




leieettetts. 

Crahhe. 

(\ HEN all the fiercer passions cease, 

1 ^ (The glory and disgrace of youth ;) 

When the deluded soul, in peace, 

Can listen to the voice of truth ; 
When we are taught in whom to trust, 
And how to spare, to spend, to give, 
(Our prudence kind, our pity just,) — 
'Tis then we rightly learn to live. 
Its weakness when the body feels, 
Nor danger in contempt defies, 
To reason when desire appeals, 

When on experience hope relies ; 
When every passing hour we prize, 

Nor rashly on our follies spend. 
But use it, as it quickly flies. 

With sober aim to serious end ; 
When prudence bounds our utmost views, 
And bids us wrath and wrong forgive ; 
When we can calmly gain or lose, — 
'Tis then we rightly learn to live. 

Yet thus, when we our way discern. 

And can upon our care depend. 
To travel safely when we learn. 

Behold ! we're near our journey's end ; 
We've trod the maze of error round, 

Long wandering in the winding glade ; 



180 REFLECTIONS. 



And, now the torch of truth is found. 
It only shows us where we strayed ; 

Light for our<?elvcs, what is it worth, 
When we no more our way can choose ? 

For others, when we hold it forth, 
They, in their pride, the boon refuse. 

By long experience taught, we now 

Can rightly judge of friends and foes, 
Can all the worth of these allow. 

And all their faults discern in those ; 
Relentless hatred, erring love. 

We can for sacred truth forego ; 
We can the warmest friend reprove, 

And bear to praise the fiercest foe : 
To what effect ? Our friends are gone 

Beyond reproof, regard, or care ; 
And of our foes remains there one. 

The mild, relenting thoughts to share? 
Now 'tis our boast that we can quell 

The wi'.dest passions in their rage ; 
Can their destructive force repel. 

And their impetuous wrath assuage ! 

Ah ! virtue, dost thou arm, when now 

This bold, rebellious race are fled ; 
When all these tyrants rest, and thou 

Art warring with the mighty dead ? 
Revenge, ambition, scorn, and pride, 

And strong desire, and fierce disdain, 
The giant brood by thee defined, 

Lo, Time's resistless strokes have slain. 



REFLECTIONS. 181 



Yet Time, who could that race subdue, 

(O'erpowering strength, appeasing rage,) 
Leaves yet a persevering crew, 

To try the failing powers of age. 
Vexed by the constant call of these, 

Virtue a while for conquest tries ; 
But weary grown and fond of ease. 

She makes with them a compromise : 
Avarice himself she gives to rest. 

But rules him with her strict comraauds, 
Bids Pity touch her torpid breast, 

And Justice hold his eager hands. 

Yet is there nothing men can do. 

When chilling age comes creeping on ? 
Cannot we yet some good pursue ? 

Are talents buried ? genius gone ? 
If passions slumber in the breast. 

If follies from the heart be fled. 
Of laurels let us go in quest. 

And place them on the poet's head. 
Yes, 'twill redeem the wasted time, 

And to neglected studies flee ; 
We'll build again the lofty rhyme. 

Or live. Philosophy, with thee. 

For reasoning clear, for flight sublime, 

Eternal fame reward shall be ; 
And to what glorious heights we'll climb, 

The admiring crowd shall envying see. 
Begin the song ! begin the theme ! — 



182 REFLECTIONS. 



Alas ! and is Invention dead ? 
Dream we no mere the golden dream ? 

Is Memory with her treasures fled ? 
Yes, 'tis too late, — now Reason guides 

The mind, sole judge in all debate ; 
And thus the important point decides, 

For laurels, 'tis, alas, too late ! 
What is possessed we may retain. 
But for new conquests strive in vain. 

Beware then, Age, that what was won. 

If life's past labors, studies, views, 
Be lost not, now the labor's done, 

When all thy part is, — not to lose : 
When thou canst toil or gain no more, 
Destroy not what was gained before ; 

For all that's gained of all that's gooa. 
When Time shall his weak frame destroy, 

(Their use then rightly understood,) 
Shall man in happier state enjoy. 

O, argument for truth divine. 
For study's cares, for virtue's strife, 

To know the enjoyment will be thiue, 
In th»t renewed, that endless life ! 



THE SERENADE. 183 



T£ie Eej*eaad©. 



Shelley. 




ARISE from dreams of thee 

In the first sweet sleep of night, 
When the winds are breathing low, 

And the stars are shining bright. 
I arise from dreams of thee, 

And a spirit in my feet 
Has led me — who knows how ? — 

To thy chamber-window, sweet ! 

The Avandering airs, they faint 

On the dark, the silent stream — 
The champak odors fail 

Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; 
The nightingale's complaint, 

It dies upon the heart, 
As I must die on thine, 

O, beloved as thou art ! 

O, lift me from the grass ! 

I die, I faint, I fail ! 
Let thy love in kisses rain 

On my lips and eyelids pale. 
My cheek is cold and white, alas 

My heart beats loud and fast : 
O, press it close to thine again, 

Where it will break at last I 



184 HEALTH. 



Eealtfi.. 



E. C (Pinckney. 




FILL this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone, 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon, 
To whom the better elements 

And kindly stars have given 
A form so fair, that, like the air, 

'Tis less of earth than heaven. 

Her every tone is music's own. 

Like those of morning birds, 
And something more than melody 

Dwells ever in her words ; 
The coinage of her heart are they, 

And from her lips each flows 
As one may see the burdened bee 

Forth issue from the rose. 

Affections are as thoughts to her, 

The measure of her hours ; 
Her feelings have the fragrancy. 

The freshness of young flowers ; 
And lovely passions, changing oft, 

So fill her, she appears 
The image of themselves by turns - 

The idol of past years ! 



TO THE PORTRAIT OF ONE GOXE BEFORE. 185 

Of her bright face one glance will trace 

A picture on the brain, 
And of her voice in echoing hearts 

A sound must long remain ; 
But memory, such as mine of her, 

So very much endears, 
When death is nigh, my latest sigh 

Will not be life's, but hers. 

I filled this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone, 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon — 
Her health ! and would on earth there stood 

Some more of such a frame. 
That life might be all poetry. 

And weariness a name. 



To tli© Foxtx:a!t of oae " goae hefoi^©." 

Jfrs. jfi. J.l. Ijutterfield. 

'ms^ POX thy pictured lineaments I looked, 
J Thy proud, bright eye, thy full and lirm-set lips, 
Where so much power, and yet such softness 

lay — 
Such majesty enthroned upon the pale, cahii 

brow — 
And marvelled death could quench so much of 
life; 




186 ANGEL OF THE RAIN. 

That one so many human hearts could sway, 
Could go down in the silent grave to dwell. 
But, as I gazed e'en through the mist of tears, 
There shone a clearer light ; and now I know 
That Death is but the flaring of the torch. 
When angels bear it from its house of clay 
Farth to the outer air, where it shall burn 
Free and with undimmed radiance, evermore. 
And though the world is lone without thee. 
And from day to day thy presence more we miss, 
Yet still the time is swiftly drawing nigh. 
When we must tread the dim and narrow path ; 
And blessed they who groping in its gloom, 
Though sightless, still can feel the clasping hands 
Of them that went before, and know the way. 



Ha-n-ist J^oEwen Kimball. 




WAKE thy cloud-harp, angel of the rain ! 

Sweep thy dark fingers o'er the waiting strings ; 

And pour thy melodies in silvery showers 
3 In the great heart of earth ! 

I love thy notes when in the hush of night 
They fall with tranquil gladness on the roof. 
Liquid and faint as laughter heard in dreams. 



WORLDLY TREASURES. 187 

I love thy music when, with wildest power. 
Thy unseen fingers smite the answering chords. 
And torrents of bewildering fantasies 
Deluge the mighty hills and lovely vales. 

I love thy notes when thou dost improvise 
Melodious strains to charm the royal Day 
Whose " sunbeam fingers," at its closing, fling 
A rainbow wreath athwart the dripping strings. 




'LL woo thee, world, again, 
And revel in thy loveliness and love. 
I have a heart with room for every joy ; 
And since we must part sometime, while I may 
I'll quaflf the nectar in thy flowers, and press 
The richest clusters of thy luscious fruit 
Into the cup of my desires. I know 
My years are numbered not in units yet. 
But I cannot live unless I love and am loved, 
Unless I have the young and beautiful 
Bound up like pictures in my book of life. 
It is the intensest vanity alone 

\^ hich makes us bear with life. Some seem to live 
Whose hearts are like those unenlightened stars 
Of the first darkness, lifeless, timeless, useless, 



188 THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 

With nothing but a cold night air about them ; 

Not suns, nor planets ; darkness organized ; 

Orbs of a desert darkness ; with no soul 

To light its watch-fires in the wilderness, 

And civilize the solitude one moment. 

There are such seemingly ; but ho\v or why 

They live, I know not. . This to me is life ; 

That if life be a burden, I will join 

To make it but the burden of a song ; 

I hate the world's coarse thought. And this is life : 

Tc watch young beauty's bud-like feelings burst 

And load the soul with love ; as that pale flower. 

Which opes at eve, spreads sudden on the dark 

Its yellow bloom, and sinks the air down with its sweets. 

Let heaven take all that's good, hell all that's foul ; 

Leave us the lovely, and we will ask no more. 



HE melancholy days are come, the saddest of 
the year, 
^ Of wailing Avinds, and naked woods, and mead- 
ows brown and sere. 
S) Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the withered 
leaves lie dead ; 
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rab- 
bit's tread. 




— O 



— . Ul 



•TJ 


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CfQ 


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p. 




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CO 


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THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 189 

The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrub 

the jay, 
And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the 

gloomy day. 

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately 
sprung and stood 

In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? 

Alas ! they all are in their graves ; the gentle race of 
flowers 

Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and good of 
ours. 

The rain is falling where they lie ; but the cold Novem- 
ber rain 

Calls not, from out the gloomy earth, the lovely ones 
again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, 
And the wild rose and the orchis died amid the sumhier's 

glow ; 
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, 
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty 

stood, 
Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the 

plague on men. 
And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, 

glade, and glen. 

And now, Avhen comes the calm, mild day, as still such 

days will couie, 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their wintei 

home. 



190 THE AURORA BOREALIS. 

When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though aU 

the trees are still, 
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill. 
The south wind searches for the flowers, whose fragrance 

late he bore. 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no 

more. 

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died. 
The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side ; 
In the cold, moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast 

the leaf, 
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so 

brief; 
Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of 

ours, 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers 




H. F. Gould. 



T fades ! it shifts ! and appears 

An army bright with shields and spears, 

That, winding on in proud array. 

Up the blue heights pursue their way, 

With waving plumes and banners, where 

No eagle's wing e'er cleaved the air ; 

Now charging on in frenzy wild. 

Then, turning off", in thin defile, 



NEW ENGLAND. 191 



Battalions, now again they march 

Beneath the high triumphal arch, 

And while the vast pavilion spreads 

Gold-fringed and tasselled o'er their heads 

A zenith loop superbly holds 

Its emerald green and purple folds. 




jfinon. 

TERN land ! we love thy woods and rocks, 
Thy rushing streams and wintry glooms, 

And memory, like a pilgrim gray, 

Kneels at thy temples and thy tombs ; 

The thoughts of thee, where'er we dwell, 

Come o'er us like a holy spell, — 
A star to light our path of tears, 
A rainbow on the sky of years. 



Above thy cold and rocky breast 

The tempest sweeps, the night wind wails ; 
But virtue, peace, and love, like birds. 

Are nestling 'mid thy hills and vales ; 
A glory o'er each plain and glen 
Walks with thy free and iron men, 

And lights her sacred banner still. 

With Bennington and Bunker Hill. 




192 THE PITY OF THE PARK FOUNTAIN. 

Willis. 



WAS a summery day in the last of May, 

Pleasant in sun or shade ; 
And the hours went by, as .the poets say, 
.:^:4^ Fragrant and fair on their flowery way; 

■^ And a hearse crept slowly through Broadway 
And the Fountain gayly played. 

The Fountain played right merrily, 

And the world looked bright and gay ; 

And a youth went by, with a restless eye, 

Whose heart was sick and whose brain was dry; 

And he prayed to God that he might die — 
And the Fountain played away. 

Uprose the spray like a diamond throne, 

And the drops like music rang — 
And of those who marvelled how it shone 
Was a proud man left in his shame alone ; 
And he shut his teeth with a smothered groan — 

And the Fountain sweetly sang. 

And a rainbow spanned it changefully, 
Like a bright ring broke in twain ; 
And the pale, fair girl, who stopped to see, 
Was sick with the pangs of poverty — 
And from hunger to guilt she chose to flee, 
As the rainbow smiled again. 



(^ 



MARCH OF THE REBEL ANGELS. 193 

With as fair a ray, on another day, 

The morning will have shone ; 
And as little marked, in bright Broadway, 
A hearse will glide amid busy and gay. 
And the bard who sings will have passed away — 

And the Fountain will play on ! 



J^^ilton's (Paradise Lost. 




hh in a moment, through the gloom were seen 
^ Ten thousand banners rise into the air, 
>With orient colors waving ; Avith them rose 



A forest of huge spears ; and througing helms 
Appeared, and serried shields in thick array 
Of depth immeasurable ; auou they move 
lu perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood 
Of flutes aud soft recorders, such as raised 
To height of noblest temper heroes old, 
Arming to battle, and instead of rage, 
Deliberate valor breathed, firm and unmoved 
With dread of death to flight or foul retreat; 
Nor wanting power to mitigate aud 'suage 
With solemn touches troubled thoughts, aud chase 
Anguish, aud doubt, aud fear, and sorrow, and pain, 
From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they, 
Breathing united force, with fixM thought. 
Moved on in silence to soft pipes, that charmed 



194 THE SAGAMORE. 



Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil ; and now 
Advanced in view they stand, a horrid front 
Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise 
Of warriors old, with ordered spear and shield, 
Awaiting what command their mighty chief 
Had to impose. 



B. (P. ShUlaber. 



ND thou, remembered Sagamore, 
Some fairy pencil traced thy shore, 
With most artistic beauties rife, 
Ere sturdy Nature gave it life ; 
The woods that skirt thy verdant side 
Bow over thee in love and pride. 
And lay their shadows there to rest 
Upon the pillow of thy breast ; 
No sounds of harsh discordance press 
To mar thy blessed peacefulness. 
The old pines murmur whisperingly. 
As if in earnest praise of thee ; 
And troops of brilliant loving birds 
Sing their delights in joyous words. 
Responsive to thine own sweet speech 
That breaks in music on thy beach. 
Among thy haunts again we've played, 
Again along thy shore we've strayed. 




THE BEAUTIES OP NATURE. 195 

And bowed like pilgrims at a shi'ine 
Before thy beauties so divine ! 
Again our foreheads, warm and glowing, 
Have felt thy crystal coolness flowing, 
And love has strengthened in the beam 
Reflected from thy shore and stream. 



Th© Beatjdtles @f Fatw©, 



I^ums. 



~.yXr~G,<S>3'-V^— 




DMIRING Nature in her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; 
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
Th' abodes of coveyed grouse and timid sheep, 
My savage journey, curious I pursue. 
Till famed Breadalbane opens to my \aew. 
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, 

The woods, wild scattered, clothe their ample sides. 

Th' outstretching lake, embosomed *mong the hills. 

The eye with wonder and amazement fiUs ; 

The Tay meandering sweet in infant pride. 

The palace rising on his verdant side ; 

I'he lawns wood-fringed in Nature's native taste ; 

The hillocks dropped in Nature's careless haste ; 

The arches striding o'er the new-born stream; 

The village glittering in the noontide beam. 
* * * * 

Poetic ardors in my bosom swell, 

Lone wandering by the hermit's mossy cell ; 



inc. 



THE FAMIXE. 



The sweeping theatre of hanging woods, 

Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods. 

* * * * 

Here Poesy might Avake her heaven-taught l}Te, 
And look through Nature with creative fire ; 
Here, to the wrongs of fate half reconciled, 
Misfortune's lightened steps might wander wild ; 
And Disappointment in these lonely bounds 
Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling Avounds. 
Here heart-struck Grief might heavemvard stretch 

her scan, 
And injured Worth forget and pardon man. 



Longfellow's Iliazuatha. 




THE long and dreary Winter ! 
O the cold and cruel Winter ! 
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 
Froze the ice on lake and river ; 
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape 
Fell the covering snow, and drifted 
Through the forest, round the village. 
Hardly from his buried wigwam 
Coull the hunter force a passage; 
With his mittens and his snow-shoes 
Vainly walked he through the forest. 
Sought for bird or beast and found noui 



THE FAMINE. 10' 



Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 

In the snow beheld no footprints. 

In the ghastly, gleaming forest 

Fell, and could not rise from weakness. 

Perished there from cold and hunger. 

O the famine and the fever ! 
O the wasting of the famine ! 
O the blasting of the fever ! 
O the wailing of the children ! 

the anguish of the women ! 

All the earth was sick and famished ; 
Hungry was the air around them, 
Hungry was the sky above them, 
And the hungry stars in heaven 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them J 

Into Hiawatha's wigwam 
Came two other guests, as silent 
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy. 
Waited not to be invited. 
Did not parley at the doorway. 
Sat there without word of welcome 
In the seat of Laughing Water ; 
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow 
At the face of Laughing Water. 
And the foremost said, " Behold me ! 

1 am Famine, Bukadawin ! " 
And the other said, " Behold me ! 
I am Fever, Ahkosewin ! " 

And the lovely Minnehaha 
Shuddered as they looked upon her. 
Shuddered at the words they uttered, 



198 THE FAMIXE. 



Lay down on her bed in silence. 
Hid her face, but made no answer ; 
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning 
At the looks they cast upon her ; 
At the fearful words they uttered. 

Forth into the empty forest 
Rushed the maddened Hiawatha ; 
In his heart was deadly sorrow, 
In his face a stony firmness ; 
On his brow the sweat of anguish 
Started, but it froze, and fell not. 

Wrapped in furs and armed for hunting. 
With his mighty bow of ash-tree. 
With his quiver full of arrows, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Into the vast and vacant forest 
On his snow-shoes strode he forward. 

" Gitche Manito, the Mighty ! " 
Cried he with his face unplifted 
In that bitter hour of anguish, 
" Give your children food, O father ! 
Give us food, or we must perish ! 
Give me food for Minnehaha, 
For my dying Minnehaha ! " 

Through the far-resounding forest, 
Through the forest vast and vacant. 
Rang that cry of desolation ; 
Rut there came no other answer 
Than the echo of his crying. 
Than the echo of the woodlands, 
*' Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! " 



THE FAMINE. 199 



All day long roved Hiawatha 
In that melancholy forest, 
Through the shadow of whose thickets, 
In the pleasant days of summer. 
Of that ne'er forgotten summer. 
He had brought his young bride homeward 
From the land of the Dacotahs ; 
When the birds sang in the thickets, 
And the air was full of fragrance. 
And the lovely Laughing Water 
Said with voice that did not tremble, 
" I will follow you, my husband ! " 

In the wigwam with Nokomis, 
With those gloomy guests that watched her, 
With the Famine and the Fever, 
She was lying, the Beloved, 
She, the dying Minnehaha. 

" Hark ! " she said ; " I hear a rushing, 
Hear a roaring and a rushing, 
Hear the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to me from a distance ! " 
" No, my child," said old Nokomis, 
" 'Tis the night- wind in the pine trees ! " 
" Look ! " she said ; "I see my father 
Standing lonely at his doorway. 
Beckoning to me from his wigwam 
In the land of the Dacotahs ! " 
" No, my child ! " said old Nokomw, 
** 'Tis the smoke, that waves and beckons ! "' 
" Ah ! " she said, " the eyes of Pauguk 
Glare upon me in the darkness. 



200 THE FAMIXE. 



I can feel his icy fingers 
Clasping mine amid the darkness ! 
Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 

And the desolate Hiawatha, 
Far away amid the forest, 
Miles away among the mountains. 
Heard that sudden cry of anguish. 
Heard the voice of Minnehaha 
Calling to him in the darkness, 
" Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 

Over snow-fields waste and pathless. 
Under snow-encumbered branches, 
Homeward hurried Hiawatha, 
Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, 
Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing ; 
" Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! 
Would that I had perished for you ! 
Would that I were dead, as you are ! 
Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! " 

And he rushed into the wigwam. 
Saw the old Nokomis slowly 
Rocking to and fro and moaning. 
Saw his lovely Minnehaha 
Lying dead and cold before him. 
And his bursting heart within him 
Uttered such a cry of anguish. 
That the forest moaned and slumbered, 
That the very stars in heaven 
Shook and trembled with his anguish. 

Then he sat down, still and speechless, 
On the bed of Minnehaha, 



THE FAMINE. 



201 



At the feet of Laughing Water, 
At those willing feet, that never 
More would lightly run to meet him ; 
Never more would lightly follow. 

With both hands his face he covered, 
Seven long days and nights he sat there, 
As if in a swoon he sat there. 
Speechless, motionless, unconscious 
Of the daylight or the darkness. 
Then they buried Minnehaha ; 
In the snow a grave they made her, 
In the forest, deep and darksome, 
Underneath the moaning hemlocks ; 
Clothed her in her richest garments, 
Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, 

Covered her with snow, like ermine ; 
Thus they buried Minnehaha. 
And at night a fire was lighted. 

On her grave four times was kindled, 

For her soul upon its journey 

To the Island of the Blessed. 

From his doorway Hiawatha 

Saw it burning in the forest. 

Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks ; 

From his sleepless bed uprising, 

From the bed of Minnehaha, 

Stood and watched it at the doorway, 

That it might not be extinguished. 

Might not leave her in the darkness. 
" Farewell," said he, " llinnehaha I 

Farewell, O my Laughing Water ! 



202 THE LADY OF THE EARL. 

All my heart is buried with you, 
All mj thoughts go onward with you ; 
Come not back again to labor, 
Come not back again to suffer. 
Where the famine and the fever 
Wear the heart and waste the body. 
Soon my task will be completed, 
Soon your footsteps I shall follow 
To the Island of the Blessed, 
To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the Land of the Hereafter." 



fM Ladj of tU lad. 



Jhnon,. 




SAW her in the festive halls, in scenes of pride 

and glee, 
'Mongst many beautiful and fair, but none so fair 

as she ; 
Hers was the most attractive form that mingled 

in the scene. 
And all who saw her said she moved a goddess 

<tnd a queen. 

The diamond blazed in her dark hair and bound her pol- 
ished blow. 

And precious }!;ems were clasped around her swan-like 
neck of snow. 



THE LADY OF THE EARL. 203 

And Indian looms had lent their stores to form her sump- 
tuous dress. 

And art with nature joined to grace her passing love- 
liness. 

I looked upon her, and I said, Who is so blest as she ? 
A creature she ail light and life, all beauty and all glee ; 
Sure, sweet content blooms on her cheek and on her 

brow of pearl. 
And she was young and innocent, the lady of the earl 

But as I looked more carefully I saw that radiant smile 
Was but assumed in mockery, the unthinking to beguile ; 
Thus have I seen a summer rose in all its beauty bloom, 
When it has shed its sweetness o'er a cold and lonely 
tomb. 

She struck the harp, and when they praised her skill she 

turned aside, 
A rebel tear of conscious woe and memory to hide ; 
But when she raised her head she looked so lovely, so 

serene, 
To gaze in her proud eyes you'd think a tear had seldom 

been. 

The humblest maid in rural life can boast a happier fate 
Than she, the beautiful and good, in all her rank and 

state ; 
For she was sacrificed, alas ! to cold and selfish pride, 
When her young lip had breathed the vow to be a sol- 
dier's bride. 



204 MIGNON ASPIRING TO HEAVEN. 

Of late I viewed her move along, the idol of the crowd; 
A few short months elapsed, and then I kissed her in her 

shroud ; 
And o'er her splendid monument I saw the hatchment 

wave, 
Rut there was one fond heart which did more honor to 

her grave. 

A warrior dropped his plumed head upon her place of 

rest. 
And with his feverish lips the name of Ephelinda pressed ; 
Then breathed a prayer, and checked the groan, the groan 

of parting pain. 
And as he left tne tomb, he said, " Yet we shall meet 

again." 



Eigaoa aspMag to Eeavea. 

Goethe. 



UCH let me seem till such I be ; 

Take not my snow-white robe away ; 
Soon from the dreary earth I flee, 

Up to the glittering realms of day. 

There first a little space I'll rest. 

Then ope my eyes with joyful mind, 

In robes of lawn no longer dressed. 
Girdle and garland left behind. 




THE HOPE OF AX HEREAFTER. 205 

And those calm, shining sons of morn, 
They ask not touching maicj or boy ; 

No robes, no garments, there are worn ; 
The frame is purged from sin's alloy. 

Through life, 'tis true, I have not toiled ; 

Yet anguish long my heart has ^\Tung, 
Untimely woe my cheek has spoUed : 

Make me again forever young. 



Campbell. 

f^/1 HAT is the bigot's torch, the t)Tant's chain .' 
IJ ^I smile on death, if heavenward Hope remain ! 
.Im But, if the warring winds of nature's strife 
Be all the faithless charter of my life. 
If chance awaked (inexorable power !) 
This frad and feverish being of an hour ; 
Doomed o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep 
Swift as ihe tempest travels on the deep. 
To know Delight but by her parting smile, 
And toil, and wish, and weep a little while ; — 
Then melt, ye elements that formed in vain 
This troubled pulse and visionary brain ! 
Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom ! 
And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb ! 
Eternal Hope ! when yonder spheres sublime 
Pealed their first notes to sound the march of time, 




206 



ALL IS VANITY, SAITII THE PREACHER. 



Thy joyous youth, began — but not to fade. 
When all the sister planets have decayed, 
When ^vrapped in fire the realms of ether glow, 
And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below, 
Thou, undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile, 
And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile! 

— M>&^6£;^s©4H — 




^yron. 

AME, wisdom, love, and power were mine, 
And health and youth possessed me ; 

My goblets blushed from every vine. 
And lovely forms caressed me. 

I sunned my heart in beauty's eyes. 

And felt my soul grow tender ; 
AU earth can give, or mortal prize, 

Was mine of regal splendor. 

I strive to number o'er Avhat days 

Remembrance can discover. 
Which all that life or earth displays 

Would lure me to live over. 



There rose no day, there rolled no hoiu: 

Of pleasure unembittered ; 
And not a trapping decked my power 

That galled not while it glittered. 



ON A TEAR. 

The serpent of the field, by art 
And spells, is won from harming ; 

But that which coils around the heart, 
! who hath power of charming ? 

It will not list to wisdom's lore, 
Nor music's voice can hire it ; 

But there it stings forevermore 
The soul that must endure it. 



207 



a Tear. 



±log-ers 




THAT the chemist's magic art 

Could crystallize this sacred treasure ! 
Long should it glitter near my heart, 
A secret source of pensive pleasure. 

The little brilliant, ere it fell, 
Its lustre caught from Chloe's eye ; 

Then, trembling, left its coral cell — 
The spring of Sensibility. 

Sweet drop of pure and pearly light! 

In thee the rays of virtue shine, — 
More calmly clear, more mildly bright, 

Thau any gem that gilds the mine. 

Benign restorer of the soul ! 
Who ever fliest to bring relief. 



208 THE LIFE CLOCK. 



When first we feel the rude control 
Of love or pity, joy or grief. 

The sage's and the poet's theme. 
In every clime, in every age, 

Thou charm'st in fancy's idle dream. 
In reason's philosophic page. 

That very law which moulds a tear, 
And bids it trickle from its source, 

That law preserves the earth a sphere, 
And guides the planets in their course. 



c-^ ' " J3 °feK 



JU Life Q^lmk. 



^ HERE is a little mystic clock 
No human eye hath seen, 
That beateth on and beateth on 
From morning until e'en. 

And Avhen the soul is wrapped in sleep, 
And heareth not a sound, 
It ticks and ticks the livelong night, 
And never runneth down. 

O, wondrous is that work of art 
Which knells the passing hour ; 

But art ne'er formed or mind conceived 
This life clock's magic power. 




THE LIFE CLOCK. 209 

Nor set in gold, nor decked with gems, 

By wealth and pride possessed, 
But rich or poor, or high or low. 

Each bears it in his breast. 

When life's deep stream, 'mid beds of flowers, 

All still and softly glides, 
Like the wavelet's step, with a gentle beat. 

It warns of passing tides. 

^Vhen threatening darkness gathers o'er, 

And hope's bright visions flee. 
Like the sullen stroke of the muflHed oar, 

It beateth heavily. 

When passion nerves the warrior's arm 

For deeds of hate and wrong. 
Though heeded not the fearful sound, 

Its knell is deep and strong. 

When eyes to eyes are gazing soft, 

And tender words are spoken, 
Then fast and wild it rattles on. 

As if with love 't^^'ere broken. 

Such is the clock that measures life, 

Of flesh and spirit blended. 
And thus 'twill run within the heart 

Till that strange tie is ended. 



210 KNOW THYSELF. 



J^rs. Big'oiLmey. 



I 



\(\ HEN gentle Twilight sits 
^ On Day's forsaken throne, 
P^4i4!yA 'Mid the sweet hush of eventide 
Muse by thyself alone, 
And at the time of rest, 

Ere sleep asserts its power, 
Hold pleasant converse with thyself 
In meditation's bower. 

Motives and deeds review 

By Memory's truthful glass, 
Thy silent self the only judge 

And critic as they pass ; 
And if their Avayward face 

Should give thy conscience pain, 
Resolve with energy divine 

The victory to gain. 

When morning's earliest rays 

O'er spire and roof-tree fall. 
Gladly invite thy waking heart 

Unto a festival 
Of smiles and love to all, 

The lowliest and the least, 
And of delighted praise to Him, 

The Giver of the feast. 



KNOW THYSELF. 211 



Not on the outer world 

For inward joy depend ; 
Enjoy the luxury of thought. 

Make thine own self thy friend ; 
Not with the restless throng, 

In search of solace roam, 
But with an independent zeal 

Be intimate at home. 

Good company have they 

Who by themselves do walk. 
If they have learned on blessed themes 

With their own souls to talk ; 
For they shall never feel 

Of dull ennui the power, 
Not penury of loneliness 

Shall haunt their hall or bower. 

Drink waters from the fount 

That in thy bosom springs, 
And envy not the mingled draught 

Of satraps or of kings ; 
So shalt thou find at last. 

Far from the giddy brain, 
Self-knowledge and self-culture lead 

To uncomputed gain. 



212 



O, KOT V.Y GRAVES. 



®, Rot hj draTes. 



y.^. J7. WaZJaas. 




NOT by graves should tears be shed ; 

Nor there should cj'press weave its gloom ; 
No ! — gratulations for the dead. 

And roses for the tomb ! 

Whatever pangs they had are o'er ; 

Whatever dark defects are past : 
What care they now on that still shore 

For bleak misfortune's blast ? 



Rest, all ye pale, cold people ! Rest ! 

Scomers alike of pain and time ; 
O, with that still white-mantled breast 

How patient and sublime ! 

But for the troubled living — tears ; 

For them the cypress's sad shade, 
Who yet with agonies and fears 

In battle are arraved. 



Then not by graves should tears be shed ; 

Nor there should cj'press weave its gloom : 
No ! — gratulations for the dead, 

And roses for the tomb ! 



SOMETHING CHEAP. 213 



EomatMag G) 



Charles Szuain. 



oJOic 




HERE'S not a cheaper thing on earth, 

Nor yet one half so dear ; 
'Tis worth more than distinguished birth, 
Or thousands gained a year ; 
It lends the day a new delight ; 

'Tis nature's firmest shield; 
And adds more beauty to the night 
Than all the stars may yield. 

It maketh poverty content — 

To-morrow whispers peace ; 
It is a gift from Heaven sent 

For mortals to increase ; 
It meets you with a smile at mom, 

It lulls you to repose — 
A flower for peer and peasant born, 

An everlasting rose. 

A charm to banish grief away, 

To snatch the frown from care ; 
Turn tears to smiles, make dulness gay, 

Spread gladness every where ; 
And yet 'tis cheap as summer dew, 

That gems the lily's breast ; 
A talisman for love, as true 

As ever man possessed. 



214 SWEET REMEMBRANCES. 

As smiles the rainbow through the cloud 

"When threatening storm begins — 
As music 'mid the tempest loud, 

That still its sweet way wins — 
As springs an arch across the tide. 

When waves conflicting form, 
So comes this seraph to our side. 

This angel of our home. 
"What may this wondrous spirit be, 

With power unheard before — 
This charm, the bright divinity ? 

Good temper — nothing more ! 



Sweet EememB.raB(ses. 

Jlore. 

|ET Fate do her worst ; there are relics of joy. 
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot 

destroy ; 
And which come in the night-time of sorrow 

and care, 
To bring back the features that joy used to wear; 
I>ong, long be my heart with such memories 
filled ; 
Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled, 
You may break, you may ruin the vase, if you will. 
But the scent of !he roses will hang round it still. 




CHARITY. 



215 




SAW a pale young orphan boy 

Go wandering sadly by ; 
His feet were bare, his garments torn, 

And tears were in his eye. 
He gazed on every face that passed ; 

In none was pity shown ; 
And then upon the cold, damp ground 

He sat and wept alone. 



The drifting snow came thick and fast, 

The wind was high and wild ; 
He found no shelter for his head. 

The poor, forsaken child. 
And all who had come forth that day. 

To brave the cheerless storm. 
Wrapped their warm garments closer round, 

And passed unheeding on. 

* * * * 

Anon an angel form drew near. 

With a sweet, pitying eye. 
And soon she raised him from the ground, 

And soon his tears were dry ; 
She folded him within her robe, 

To shield him from the storm, 
And took him to her cheerful home, 

To feed, and clothe, and warm. 



216 KELIANCE ON GOD. 



Yes, thou wilt soothe the suffering one, 

And bid his woes depart ; 
The orphan's prayers shall follow thee, 

Maid of the gentle heart. 
Faith leads us through life's trying scenes, 

Hope's smiles are sweet to see ; 
But lovelier than these art thou, 

O soft-eyed Charity. 

Daughter of heaven, 'tis thine to cheer 

The hearts that hopeless grieve, 
To follow in the steps of want, 

Its victims to relieve. 
Fain would we imitate thy love ; 

Fain would we talk with thee ; 
Come thou and make our hearts thy home, 

O blessed Charity. 



Eoliaaoe oa Sodi, 



Gar:ket. 



o^Ko 




F thou hast ever felt that all on earth 
Is transient and unstable, that the hopes 
Which man reposes on his brother man 
Are but broken reeds ; if thou hast seen 
That life itself " is but a vapor," sprung 
From time's upheaving ocean, decked, perhaps, 
With here and there a rainbow, but full soon 



RELIANCE ON GOD. 217 



To be dissolved and mingled with the vast 
And fathomless expanse that rolls its waves 
On every side around thee ; if thy heart 
Has deeply felt all this, and thus has learned 
That earth has no security, then go 
And place thy trust in God. 

The bliss of earth 
Is transient as the colored light that beams 
In morning dew-drops. Yet a little while, 
And all that earth can show of majesty. 
Of strength, or loveliness, shall fade away 
Like vernal blossoms. From the conqueror's hand 
The sceptre and the sword shall pass away ; 
The mighty ones of earth shall lay them down 
In their low beds, and Death shall set his seal 
On Beauty's marble brow, and cold and pale, 
Bloomless and voiceless, shall the lovely ones 
Go to the " congregation of the dead." 

Yea, more than this : the mighty rocks that lift 

Their solemn forms upon the mountain heights. 

Like time's proud citadels, to bear the storms 

And wrecks of ages, — these, too, shall decay. 

And Desolation's icy hand shall wave 

O er all that thou canst see ; blot out the suns 

That shed their glory o'er uncounted worlds ; 

Call in the distant comets from their wild 

And devious course, and bid them cease to move; 

And clothe the heavens in darkness. But the power 

Of God, his goodness, and his grace, shall be 



218 THE GOBLET. 



Unchanged, when all the worlds that he hath made 
Have ceased their revolutions. When the suns 
That burn in yonder sky have poured their last, 
Their dying glory o'er the remains of space, 
S';ill, God shall be the same, — the same in love, 
In majesty, in mercy : then rely 
In faith on him, and thou shalt never find 
Hope disappointed, or reliance vain. 




The doblet. 

^ayard '-Taylor 



^ HEN Life his lusty course began, 
^And first I felt myself a man. 
And Passion's unforeboded glow, 
The thirst to feel, the will to know, 
Gave courage, vigor, fervor, truth, 
The glory of the heart of youth. 
And each awaking pulse was fleet 
A livelier march of joy to beat, 
Presaging in its budding hour 
The ripening of the human flower, 
There came, on some divine intent, 
One whom the Lord of life had sent, 
And from his lips of wisdom fell 
This fair and wondrous oracle : 



THE GOBLET. 219 



Life's arching temple holds for thee 
Solution quick, and radiant key 
To many an early mystery ; 
And thou art eager to pursue, 
Through many a dimly-lighted clew. 
The hopes that turn thy blood to fire, 
The phantoms of thy young desire ; 
Yet not to reckless haste is poured 
The nectar of the generous lord, 
Nor mirth nor giddy riot jar 
The penetralia, high in air ; 
But steady hope, and passion pure, 
And manly truth, the crown secure. 

Within that temple's secret heart. 

In mystic silence shrined apart. 

There is a goblet, on whose brim 

All raptures of creation swim. 

No light that ever beamed in wine 

Can match the glory of its shine, 

Or lure with such a mighty art 

The tidal flow of every heart. * 

But in its warm, bewildering blaze 

An ever-shifting magic plays. 

And few who round the altar throng 

Shall find the sweets for which they loug. 

Who, unto brutish life akin, 

Comes to the goblet dark with sin. 

And with a coarse hand grasps, for him 

The splendor of the gold grows dim ; 

The gems are dirt, the liquor's flame 



220 THE GOBLET. 



A maddening beverage of shame ; 
And into caverns shut from day 
The hot inebriate reels away. 

For each shall give the draught he drains 
Its nectar pure, or poison stains ; 
From out his heart the flavor flows 
That gives him fury or repose ; 
And some will drink a tasteless wave. 
And some increase the thirst they have ; 
And others loathe as soon as taste, 
And others pour the tide to waste ; 
And some evoke from out its deeps 
A torturing fiend that never sleeps — 
For vain all arts to exorcise 
From the seared heart its haunting eyes. 

But he who burns with pure desire, 
With chastened love and sacred fire, 

With sold and being all a-glow 

Life's holiest mystery to know. 

Shall see the goblet flash and gleam 

As in the glory of a dream ; 

And from its starry lip shall drink 

A bliss to lift him on the brink 

Of mighty rapture, joy intense. 

That far outlives its subsidence. 

The draught shall strike Life's narrow goal, 

And make an outlet fo5: his soul, 

That down the ages, broad and far, 

Shall brighten like a risinsr star. 



THE FLOWERS. 221 



In other forms his pulse shall beat. 
His spirit walk in other feet, 
And every generous hope and aim 
That spurred him on to honest fame, 
To other hearts give warmth and grace. 
And keep on earth his honored place, 
Become immortal in his race. 



Th© Flowers. 



Henry ^acon.. 




S angels sport amid the stars, 

And crown their brows with light, 
She played amid the flowers of spriug, 
A creature of delight. 

But when her heart was leaping most 
To greet the summer bloom, 

The spectre of the paling cheek 
Led to the darkened room. 



But there, as when the smiles of Christ 
Broke through the veU of death, 

The flowers were seen in morning bloom, 
And balmy was the breath. 

She gazed upon them long and stUi, 
As though she read the truth. 



222 THE FLOWERS. 



That like them she must fade and die 
Before the noon of youth. 

Yet did they give her holy thoughts, 

And she would bid us smile, 
As though the flower-Avreathed chain of hope 

She sported Avith the while. 

Still bloom, sweet flowers, for her dear sake ; 

I love ye all the more 
That she has winged her mystic flight 

To Heaven's eternal shore. 

I love to greet ye in my walks ; 

Your beauty is her o\vn ; 
The birds above ye, by the brooks, 

Sing with her merry tone. 



And while I breathe the fragr 
And see the stream run on, 

1 think upon a holy soul, 
As glory early gone. 



♦ 



Still bloom, sweet flowers ! I love to gaze 

On what she loved so well ; 
Beyond the charm of stars or skies, 

Ye have o'er me a spell. 

And I would feel that holy speU, 

When on the couch I lay. 
From whence to greet thee. Immortelle ! 

My spii'it flees away. 



THE DAY IS DOXE. 223 




TB.e Hay Is Done, 

L-ongfellovj. 

HE day is done, and the darkness 

Falls from the wings of night, 
As a feather is wafted downward 

From an eagle in his flight. 



I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the mist. 
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me. 
That my soul cannot resist — 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 

That is not akin to pain. 
And resembles sorrow only 

As the mist resembles rain. 



Oome read to me some poem. 
Some simple and heartfelt lay, 

That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
And banish the thoughts of day. 

Not from the grand old masters. 
Not from the bards sublime, 

^^^lose distant footsteps echo 

Through the corridors of time ; — 

For, like strains of martial music, 
Their mighty thoughts suggest 

Life's endless toil and endeavor. 
And to-nisht I lone for rest. 



224 THOUGHTS. 



Head from some humbler poet. 

Whose songs gushed from his heart, 

As showers from the clouds of summer. 
Or tears from the eyelids start ; — 

Who through long days of labor. 

And nights devoid of ease. 
Still heard in soul the music 

Of wonderful melodies. 

Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care. 
And come like the benediction 

That follows after prayer. 

Then read from the treasured volume 

The poem of thy choice. 
And lend to the rhyme of the poet 

The beauty of thy voice. 

And the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares, that infest the day. 

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 



FJailey. 
— "-s^a®- — • 



'l^ E do not make our thoughts ; they grow in us, 
i >^ Like grain in wood ; the growth is of the skies, 
CJiijy/^i Which are of nature ; nature is of God. 
The world is full of glorious likenesses. 



THE SILENT MULTITUDE. 




Tbie Si 

J^lrs. Semans. 

MIGHTY and a mingled throng 

Were gathered in one spot ; 
The dwellers of a thousand homes — 

Yet 'midst them voice was not. 

The soldier and his chief were there ; 
The mother and her child ; 
The friends, the sisters of one hearth — 
None spoke, none moved, none smiled. 

There lovers met, between whose lives 

Years had swept darkly by ; 
After that heart-sick laope deferred. 

They met, but silently. 

You might have heard the rustling leaf, 

The breeze's faintest sound, 
The shiver of an insect's wing, 

On that thick-peopled ground. 

Your voice to whispers would have died, 

For the deep quiet's sake ; 
Your tread the softest moss have sought. • 

Such stillness not to break. 

What held the countless imiltitude 
Bound in that spell of peace ? 



226 A VISION. 

How could the ever-sounding life 
Amid so many cease ? 

Was it some pageant of the air, 

Some glory high above, 
That linked and hushed those human souls 

In reverential love ? 

Or did some burdening passion's weight 
Hang on their indrawn breath ? 

Awe — the pale awe that freezes words ? 
Fear — the strong fear of death ? 

A mightier thing — Death, death himself 

Lay on each lonely heart ! 
.kindred were there, yet hermits all ; 

Thousands, but each apart. 



fi. j^. E. 




STAND on the brink of a river. 
The lliver of Life to me, 
Where the billows of memory quiver. 
And rise u\A fall like the sea. 

I read in their tremulous motion 

The records of many a year, 
And like voices that come from the ocean, 

Are the muffled words I hear. 



A VISION. 227 

Do^vn under the waters gleaming 

Are visions of long ago ; 
There are forms of beauty beaming, 

There are shadows dark and low. 

There are scenes from life's fair morning, 

That comt like the break of day, 
Or a beautiful landscape's dawning, 

When the mists have cleared away. 

I gaze on the sight Elysian, 

With earnest and longing eyes, 
Till my soul is stirred, by the vision, 

With raptures from Paradise. 

I see the chain of a friendship 

Death never had power to part ; 
One link is under the waters. 

The other is round my heart. 

I hear, from the depths of the river. 

Sweet words that my spirit thrill ; 
We are parted, but not forever ; 

We are living and loving still ! 

And my soul no more is lonely. 

Nor throbs with a sense of pain. 
For the loved, who were once mine only, 

I know will be mine again. 

Dark waves may close o'er the vision. 
Storms drive me away from the shore ; 



228 LOST. 

But hope, .ike the lamp of a Vestal, 
Dies out in my soul no more. 

Flow on, mysterious river. 
Flow on to eternity's sea ; 

By faith and a holy endeavor. 
The future hath bliss for me. 




Lost, 



HERE are gains for all our losses. 
There are balms for all our pain ; 
But when youth, the dream, departs, 
It takes something from our hearts, 
And it never comes again. 

We are stronger, and are better, 

Under manhood's sterner reign; 
Still we feel that something sweet 
Followed youth with flying feet, 
And will never come again. 

Something beautiful is vanished, 

And we sigh for it in vain ; 
We behold it every where, 
On the earth, and in the air, 
But it never comes again. 



THE PICKET BEFORE BULL RUX. 229 



rU fhUt UM^ Ball Eus. 

A LIFE SKETCH. 




i 




John Willinm (Daii. 

^ y gun shines in the misty air. 

The fog in the vale hangs chill and cold, 
The gloaming tree o'er our thicket lair 

Heaves up like a standard's fold ; 
'Tis near the beat of the early drum. 

For light pales up to each fading stax ; 
I watch till the crimson morning come 

O'er the eastern hills afar. 

My mate sleeps on, as a weary child. 

In tranquil rest at a mother's knee. 
When the hymn floats off in twilight mild. 

And the shades of danger flee. 
For him the prayers of a household band 

This night o'er the cloudy stair have striven, 
Where tlie great archangels flaming stand. 

At the golden doors of Heaven. 

'Tis still ; my heart, in the early morn. 

Yearns fondly back to the closing past ; 
The joys of youth, in their glory born, 

As pearls from the genii cast ; 
The love that burned as a vestal fire, 

Though lit on a shrine of crumbling mould — 
The chant of fame in a far-off choir. 

That down through the years hath rolled 



230 THE PICKET BEFORE BULL KUX. 

A stealthy tiead in yon thicket's brow — 

'Tis the foeman stirs each weary limb ; 
Perchance his thought is a pilgrim now ; 

Through the gates of memory dim 
He hears the plash of Edisto's wave, 

He sees the star of the morning shine 
On Yarvo's breast, or evening lave 

In the tide of swift Saline. 

* * * # 

A shot ! aha ! 'tis their parting word ; 

A smothered groan at my side I hear. 
O, down tlie hill, like a prairie herd, 

They burst, with a rolling cheer ; 
And our captain points with waving blade, 

" Fall back, boys ! back to your farm-house wall 
On, on through the woodland's tangled shade ! " 

Up, boy; 'tis our bugle call. 

In vain ! it calls to thine ear in vain. 

For night must fall on thy closing race, 
The mourner bend in the holy fane 

For a martjTcd Saviour's grace. 
The blanket's wet with thy brightening blood, 

The spirit's gone from thy half-closed eye ; 
The Jordin rolls in a stormy flood. 

Where thy conquering pinions fly. 

* * * * 

He rests in peace 'neath the old oak shade — 
We wavered back from the charging foe — 

And the rebel turf on his brow is laid. 
Their winds o'er the slumberer go ; 




THE SONG OF SEVENTV. — Pase 2^. 



THE SONG OF SEVENTY. 



281 



He sleeps, ^vhile the bells of autumn toll, 
Or the murmuring song of spring flits by, 

Till the crackling heavens in thundei roll 
To the bugle blast on high. 



AM not — I cannot bo old. 
Though threescore years and ten 
Have wasted away, like a tale that is told, 
The lives of other men. 



O 



I am not old ; though friends and foes 

Alike have gone to their graves. 
And left me alone to my joys or my woes, 

As a rock in the midst of the waves. 

I am not old — I cannot be old, 

Though tottering, wrinkled, and gray ; 

Though my eyes are dim, and my marrow is cold, 
Call me not old to-day. 

For early memories round me throng, — 
Old times, and manners, and men, — 

As 1 look behind on my journey so long. 
Of threescore miles and ten. 

I look behind, and am once more young, 
Buoyant, and brave, and bold 



232 THE SOXG OF SEVENTY, 

And my heart can sing, as of yore it sung. 
Before they called me old. 

1 do not see her — the old wife there — 
Shrivelled, and haggard, and gray, 

But I look on her blooming, and soft, and fair 
As she was on her wedding-day ! 

I do not see you, daughters and sons. 
In the likeness of women and men. 

But I kiss you now as I kissed you once, 
My fond little children then ! 

And as my grandson rides on my knee, 

Or plays with hi? hoop or kite, 
I can Avell recollect I was merry as he — 

The bright-eyed little wight ! 

'Tis not long since — it cannot be long, 

My years so soon were spent — 
Since I was a boy, both straight and strong ; 

Yet now am I feeble and bent. 

A dream, a dream — it is all a dream ; 

A strange, sad dream, good sooth ; 
For old as I am, and old as I seem. 

My heart is full of youth. 

Eye hath not seen, tongue hath not told. 

And ear hath not heard it sung. 
How buoyant and bold, though it seem to grow old, 

Is the heart, forever young. 



GOOD AND BETTER. 233 

Forever young, — though life's old age 

Hath every nei-ve unstrung ; 
The heart, the heart is a heritage 

Tliat keeps the old man young. 



^ Oood audi Bettei?, 



Jlnon. 




FATHER sat by the chimney-poot, 
On a winter's day, enjoying a roast , 
By his side a maiden young and fan-, 
A girl with a wealth of golden hau- ; 
And she teases the father, stern and cold. 
With a question of duty trite and old : 
'' Say, father, what shall a maiden do 
When a man of merit comes to woo ? 
And, father, what of this, pain in my breast ? 
Married or single — which is the best?" 

Then the sire of the maiden young and fair. 
The girl of the wealth of golden hair. 
He answers as ever do fathers cold. 
To the question of duty trite and old : 
" She who weddeth keeps God's letter ; 
She who weds not, doeth better." 
Then meekly answered the maiden fair, 
The girl with the wealth of golden hair, 
" I will keep the sense of the Holy Letter, 
Content to do avell, without doing better." 



234 



BUILDING UPON THE SAND. 



«ul 



Eliza CooJc 




IS well to woo, 'tis well to wed, 
For so the world has done 

Since raptles grew and roses blew. 
And morning brought the sun. 



But have a care, ye young and fair ; 
Be sure ye pledge with truth ; 
Be certain that your love AviU wear 
Beyond the days of youth. 

For if ye give not heart to heart, 

As well as hand for hand. 
You'll find you've played the " unwise part," 

And " built upon the sand." 

*Tis well to save, 'tis well to have 

A goodly store of gold. 
And hold enough of sterling stuff, 

For charity is cold. 

But place not all your hopes and tz-ust 

In what the deep mine brings ; 
We cannot live on yeUow dust, 

Unmixed with purer things. 

And be who piles up wealth alone 
Will often have to stand 



REMEMBRANCE. 235 



Beside his coffer-chest, and own 
'Tis " built upon the sand." 

Tis good to speak in kindly guise , 
And soothe whate'er we can ; 

For speech should bind the human mind, 
And love link man to man. 

But stay not at the gentle words ; 

Let deeds with language dwell ; 
The one who pities starving birds 

Should scatter crumbs as well. 

The mercy that is warm and true 

Must lend a helping hand ; 
For those who talk, yet fail to do, 

But " build upon the sand." 



EememBraaaee 



(Peraiva-l. 




HERE are moments in life that are never forgot, 
^Vhich brighten, and brighten, as time steals 
away ; 
They give a new charm to the happiest lot. 

And they shine on the gloom of the loneliest day. 
These moments are hallowed by smiles and by tears. 
The first look of love, and the last parting given. 



23G DEDICATION OF A SCHOOL HOUSE. 



Bedkatiaa of a EaliooJl Eoase. 

y/[iss Louisa Biinea 

fis'fl ^ ^'^^^ ^^ hallowed ground, 
fliL ^ Where first the Pilgrims trod, 
yijy^l(M And swept the waves of grateful prayer 
(st'T?-^ Across a virgin sod. 
<J!^>^ Not to a life of ease, 

Not for the meed of fame, 
But for a loftier range of mind. 
Across the deep they came. 

*Mid forests unsubdued 

The Sabbath dome rose fair ; 
And in their rude, unsheltered homes 

Was heard the call — To prayer. 
The wealth of thought they knew, 

And with a toil-blest hand, 
The path of learning, broad and free, 

Sped through our favored land. 

True to that sacred past, 

So brief, and yet so great, 
To whomsoever will, these walls 

Be henceforth consecrate. 
Not fortune's favored child, 

But on the immortal, all, 
The sunshine of this sphere of light 

In constant blessings fall. 



THE ANGELS IX THE HOUSE. 237 

No forests frown before ; 

Behind, no dark seas roll ; 
Young pilgrims of a brighter day 

Press to a higher goal, 
Glean from the world's vast field 

Of Science and of Art, 
But truth, and purity, keep white 

For harvest of the heart. 

Thou, Father, unto whom 

The dew of youth is fair. 
Deepen thine impress on the souls 

Of our great Teacher's care. 
The wide arena, Life, 

Beams clear in Duty's ray, 
And hallowed footsteps make one path 

Up to unshadowed day. 



fh% AxkZQh m th^ Eoas©. 



HREE pairs of dimpled arms, as white as suow 
Held me in soft embrace ; 
'' Three little cheeks, like velvet peaches soft, 
Were placed against my face. 

Three pairs of tiny eyes, so clear, so deep. 
Looked up in mine this even ; 
Three pairs of lips kissed me a sweet " Good night," 
Three little forms from Heaven. 




238 THE PROVINCE OF WOMAN. 

Ah, it is well that " little ones " should love us ; 

It lights our faith when dim, 
Tc know that once our blessed Saviour bade them 

Bring " little ones " to him. 

And said he not, " Of such is Heaven" ? and blessed 
them. 

And held them to his breast ? 
Is it not sweet to know that, when they leave us, 

'Tis then they go to rest ? 

And yet, ye tin), angels of my house. 

Three hearts encased in mine. 
How 'twould be shattered if the Lord should say, 

*' Those angels are not thine " ! 




Hannah J/Lo-r 

S some fair violet, loveliest of the glade. 

Sheds its mild fragrance on the lonely shade. 
Withdraws its modest head from public sight, 
Nor courts the sun, nor seeks the glare of light. 
Should some rude hand profanely dare intrude, 
And bear its beauties from its native wood, 
Exposed abroad, its languid colors fly. 
Its form decays, and all its odors die ; 
So woman, born to dignify retreat. 
Unknown to flourish, and unseen be great ; 



woman's four seasons. 239 

To give domestic life its sweetest cliarm, 
With softness polish, and with virtue warm ; 
Fearful of fame, unwilling to be known, 
Should seek but Heaven's applauses and her own. 



UR life is comely as a whole ; nay, more, 
Like rich brown ringlets, with odd hairs all gold 
We women have four seasons, like the year ; 
Our spring is in our lightsome, girlish days. 
When the heart laughs within us for sheer joy, 
Ere yet we know what love is, or the ill 
Of being loved by those whom we love not. 
Our summer is when we love and are beloved. 
And seems short ; from its verj* splendor seems 
To pass the quickest ; crowned with flowers it flies. 
Autumn, when some young thing with tiny hands. 
And rosy cheeks, and flossy-tendiilled locks. 
Is wantoning about us day and ni(rht. 
And winter is when those we love have perished ; 
For the heart ices then. And the jiext spring 
Is in another world, if one there be 
Some miss one season, some anothei this 
Shall have them early, and that late ; aud yet 
The year wears round with all as best it may : 
There is no rule for it ; but in the iiuiu 
It is as I have said. 




240 MAUD MULLER. 





Wlxiitier. 

_ ^ AUD MULLER, on a summer's clay, 
I2 1^1 =) Raked the meadows sweet with hay. 

^^^^^•y^f Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But when she glanced to the far-off town, 
White from its hill-slope looking down, 

The sweet song died and a vague unrest 
And a nameless longing filled her breast — 

A wish, that she had hardly dared to own. 
For something better than she nad known. 

The Judge rode slowly down the lane. 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 

He drew his bridle in the shade 

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, 

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed 
Through the meadow across the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up. 
And filled for him her small tin cu]i, 

And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 



-^:^^/^^nw^ 




' Maud Mulhr on a summer's day, 
Raked the m;ado\vs sweet with hay." — Page 240. 



MAUD 3IULLER. 241 



" Then," said the Judge, " a sweeter draught 
From a fairer hand was never quaffed." 

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees. 
Of the singing birds and the humming bees ; 

Then talked of the hayir.g, and wondered whether 
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown. 
And her graceful ankles, bare and brown. 

And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 

At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 

Maud Muller looked, and sighed : " Ah me ! 
That I the Judge's bride might be ! 

" He would dress me up in silks so fine. 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 

" My father should wear a broadcloth coat ; 
My brother should sail a painted boat ; 

" I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, 

And the baby should have a new toy each day. 

•' And I'd feed the hungry and clothe *he poor, 
And all should bless me who left our door." 

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 
And saw Maud Muller standing still. 

•' A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet ; 



242 JIAUD MULLER. 



" And her modest and graceful air 
Shows her wise and good as she is fair. 

" Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
Like her, a harvester of hay ; 

" No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 

" But low of cattle and song of birds, 
And health and quiet and loving words." 

But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold. 
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, 
And Maud was left in the field alone. 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
When he hummed in court an old love-tune ; 

And the young girl mused beside the well. 
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 

He wedded a Avife of richest dower, 
Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, 
He watched a picture come and go : 

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes 
Looked out in their innocent surprise. 

Oft when the wine in his glass was red. 
He longed for the wayside rill instead. 

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms .^ 
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. 



MAUD MULLEU. 243 



And the proud man sighed with a secret pain, 
" Ah, that I was free again ! 

" Free as when I rode that daj 

A\liere the barefoot maiden raked her hay." 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 
And many children played round her door ; 

But care and sorrow and childbirth pain 
Left their traces on heart and brain. 

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot 
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot. 

And she heard the little spring-brook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall. 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein. 

And, gazing down with tender grace. 
She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls ; 

The weary wheel to a spinet turned. 
The tallow candle an astral burned. 

And for him who sat by the chimney log, 
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 

A manly form at her side she saw. 
And joy was duty, and love was law. 

Then she took up her burden of life again, 
Saying only, " It might have been." 



244 



HOW TO LIVE. 



Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich refiner and household drudge ! 

G^d pity them both ! and pity us all, 
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. 

For of all sad words of tongue or pen, 

The saddest are these : "It might have been " ! 

Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Deeply buried from human eyes ; 

And in the hereafter, angels may 
Roll the stone from its grave away. 



E@w to hm. 



Ijri/aTht. 




O ]ive, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innimierable caravan, that moves 
To that mysterious realm where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death. 
Thou go, not like the quarry slave at night 
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and 

soothed 
by an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasaut dreams. 



ADVERTISEMENT OF A LOST DAY. 245 



ylirc. oig'oiirney. 



— -i.^?<i5>&~-*'~ 




OST! lost! lost! 

A gem of countless price. 
Cut from the living rock, 

And graved in Para(ftse. 
Set round with three times eight 

Large diamonds, clear and bright- 
And each with sixty smaller ones, 

All changeful as the light. 



Lost — where the thoughtless throng 

In fashion's mazes wind. 
Where trilleth folly's song. 

Leaving a sting behind ; 
Yet to my hand 'twas given 

A golden harp to buy. 
Such as the white-robed choir attune 

To deathless minstrelsy. 

Lost! lost! lost! 

I feel all search is vain ; 
That gem of countless cost 

Can ne'er be mine again. 
I offer no reward, 

For till these heart-strings sever, 
I know that Heaven-intrusted gift 

Is reft away forever. 



246 



THE WRECK. 



But when the sea and land 

Like burning scroll have fled, 
ni see it in His hand 

Wlio judgeth quick and dead ; 
And when of scath and loss 

That man can ne'er repair, 
The dread inquiry meets my soul. 

What shall it answer there ? 



j'.^rs. UemtXns. 




LL night the booming minute-gun 

Had pealed along the deep, 
And mournfuUy the rising sun 

Looked o'er the tide-worn steep. 
A bark from India's coral strand, 

Before the raging blast. 
Had veiled her topsails to the sand. 

And bowed her noble mast. 

The queenly ship ! brave hearts had striven, 

And true ones died with her ! 
"We saw her mighty cable riven 

Like floating gossamer. 
"We saAv her proud flag struck that morn, 

A star once o'er the seas — 
Her anchor gone, her deck uptorn — 

And sadder things than these ! 



''" '/£■ ! '4 ' »''_^ 




THE AVRECK. 247 



We saw her treasures cast away ; 

The rocks with pearls were sown, 
And, strangely sad, the ruby's ray 

Flashed out o'er fretted stone. 
And gold was strewn the wet sand o'er, 

Like ashes by a breeze ; 
And gorgeous robes — but O, that shore 

Had sadder things than these. 

We saw the strong man still and low, 

A crushed reed thrown aside ; 
Yet, by that rigid lip and brow. 

Not without strife he died. 
And near him on the sea- weed lay — 

Till then we had not wept — 
But well our gushing hearts might say 

That there a mother slept. 

For her pale arms a babe had pressed 

With such a Avreathing grasp. 
Billows had dashed o'er that fond breast, 

Yet not undone the clasp ; 
Her very tresses had been flung 

To wrap the fair child's form. 
Where still their wet, long streamers hung, 

All tangled by the storm. 

And beautiful, 'midst that wild scene. 
Gleamed up the boy's dead face. 

Like slumber's, trustingly serene. 
In melancholy grace. 



248 THE RETREAT FROM MOSCOW. 

Deep in her bosom lay his head, 
With half-shut, violet eye ; 

He had known little of her dread, 
Nought of her agony. 

O human love, whose yearning heart. 

Through all things vainly true, 
So stamps upon the mortal part 

Its passionate adieu, 
Surely thou hast another lot — 

There is some home for thee, 
Where thou shalt rest, remembering not 

The moaninor of the sea. 



jirhOTb. 

' HEN came the mad retreat ; the whirlwind snowe 
* Sweeping around them merciless as man ; 
The stiffening hand, the pulseless heart and eye, 
\^^ The frozen standard and the palsied arm ; 

The unfrequent watch-fires rising like red sparks 
Amidst the illimitable snow^s ; the crowds 
Of spectral myriads shuddering around them. 
Frozen to statues ; scathed by the red flames 
Or speared by howling savages ; until 
Winter, less merciless than they, threw o'er them 
Her winding sheet of snows, deep burying 
Armies whose presence vanished like a dream. 




MAN AA'AS MADE TO IMOURX. 249 



was made t© mowa. 



i?ur7^s 





1^ HEN chill November's surly blast 
^^^ _ ^ Made fields and forests bare, 
y^^^hx One evening, as I wandered forth 
Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spied a man, whose aged step 

Seemed weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrowed o'er with years, 
And hoary was his hair. 

" Young stranger, whither wanderest thou ? " 

Began the reverend sage ; 
" Does thirst of wealth thy steps constrain, 

Or youthful pleasure's rage ; 
Or haply, pressed with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast begun 
To wander forth, with me to mourn 

The miseries of man. 

*' The sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Out-spreading far and wide. 
Where hundreds labor to support 

A haughty lordling's pride — 
I've seen yon weary winter's sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And every time has added proofs 

That man was made to mourn. 



250 MAN WAS MA1>E TO MOURN. 



" O man ! while in thy early years 

How prodigal of time ! 
Misspending all thy precious hours. 

Thy glorious youthful prime ; 
Alternate follies take the sway, 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force gives nature's law, 

That man was made to mourn. 

•' Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported in his right ; 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn ; 
Then age and want — O, ill-matched parts 

Show man was made to mourn. 

*' A few seem favorites of fate. 

In Pleasure's lap car est ; 
Yet think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But O, what crowds in every land 

Are wretched and forlorn ! 
Through weary life this lesson learn, 

That man was made to mourn. 

" Many and sharp the numerous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselvep 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 251 

And man, whose heaven-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn. 

" See yonder poor, o'erlabored wight. 

So abject, mean, and vile. 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly fellow-worm 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, though a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

" If I'm designed yon lordling's slave, — 

By nature's law designed, — 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and power 

To make his fellow mourn ? 

" Yet, let not this too much, my son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast ; 
This partial view of human kind 

Is surely not the best ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man 

Had never, sure, been born. 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn ! 



252 UNSEEX SPIRITS. 



" death, the poor rian's dearest friend. 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasures torn ; 
But O, a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn ! " 



Willis 




^3> 

HE shadows lay along Broadway, — 

'Twas near the twilight tide, — 

And slowly there a lady fair 
Was walking in her pride ; 

Alone walked she ; but, viewlesfily. 
Walked spirits at her side. 

Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, 

And honor charmed the air ; 
And all astir looked Kind on her, 

And called her good and fair ; 
For all God ever gave to her 

She kept with chary care. 

She kept with care her beauties rare 

From lovers warm and true, 
For her heart was cold to all but gold 



THE TRUE MEASURE OP LIFE. 



2o3 



And the rich cume not to woci : 
But honored well are charms to sell. 
If priests the selling do. 

Now walking there was one more fair, — 

A slisht girl, lily pale ; 
And she had unseen company 

To make the spirit quail : 
'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn. 

And nothing could avail. 

No mercy now can clear her brow 
For this world's peace to pray ; 

For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air, 
Her woman's heart gave way ; 

But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven, 
By man is cursed alway. 



trae Eeasai^e qI Life. 




fl E live in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not 
7) breath ; 

In feelings, not in figures on the dial. 
We should count time by heart-throbs when 

they beat 
For God, for man, for duty. He most lives, 
Who thinks most, feels noblest, acts the best. 
Life is but a means unto an end — that end. 
Beginning, mean, and end to all things, God. 



254 



FLOWERS. 



flowers. 



— >-5*e^t— 



Tlzomas (P. J/To.^x:-:. 




IS early dawn — and all around 

Bright dewy flowers I view, 
Uprising from the fertile ground, 

Of every form and hue. 
The waving trees, in silken sheen 

Unfold their blossoms gay ; 
And on each festooned bough are seen 

Young minstrel birds at play. 



The vale, and hill, and balmy grove. 

With dewy gems are bright ; 
In mountain wilds, where'er wc rove, 

Beauty attracts our sight ; 
The caroling of happy birds 

More joyous make the scene ; 
And pleasant 'tis to view the herds 

Trip round the velvet green. 

'Tis morn — I trace the rosy aisles 

Of yonder garden rare ; 
Each swelling bud seems fraught with smiles 

That thinking hearts may share. 
The tall carnation pink is by, 

With breath of incense sweet, 
Unfolding splendors to each eye 

That will its beauties greet. 



FLOWERS. 



I sit me by the tulip mound 

Where Fancy sheds her light ; 
Here gems of every tint abound, 

Most charming to the sight. 
The lily of the valley, too, 

And the forget-me-not. 
Come forth as stars of light anew 

To gild the garden spot. 

The damask rose and mjTtle flowers 

Narcissus and sweet pea, 
With lustre shine in garden bowers. 

As stars shine on the sea. 
Nature in loveliness appears, 

To gladden every mind ; 
She may dispel our sighs and tears ; 

True joys in her we find. 

'Tis noon — I rest by purling stieam. 

Where grows the uj vine ; 
Here oft I've strayed in youthful dream, 

Plucking the columbine. 
O, I will sing of flowers — a theme 

For loftiest pen to dwell ; 
How faint must weaker eff"orts seem 

Their charms divine to tell ! 

Where is the hand would crush a flower 

Unheedful of its worth ? 
lie who outpours the genial shower, 

Is author of its birth. 



256 love's priiLOSOPiTY. 

0, bring me flowers when the last, 
Last pulse has told its tale ; 

They'll cheer the scene amid the blast 
That turns the features pale. 




Love's PMI@s@pfej. 

Bhellexj. 



HE fountains mingle with the river. 
And the rivers with the ocean, 
'^ The winds of heaven mix forever 

"With a sweet commotion ; 
Nothing in the world is single ; 

All things, by a law divine, 
In one another's being mingle — 
Why not I with thine ? 

See the mountains kiss the heaveu. 

And the waves clasp one another ; 
No sister-flower would be forgiven 

If it disdained its brother ; 
And the sunlight clasps the earth, 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea • 
What are all these kissings worth, 

If thou kiss not me i* 



THE MOUNTAIN CHURCH. 




Tlio Moaataln SEMirofx, 

■J\d^rs. Gilman. 

f^A S one without a friend, one summer eve 

I walked among the solemn woods alone. 
>The boughs hung lonely, and the gentle winds 
Whispered a song monotonous and low, 
That soothed my mind e'en while it made me sad 
The path I followed, by a turn abrupt, 
Brought me to stand beside that humble roof. 
Where the few scattered families that dwell 
Among these mountains and deep forest shades 
Meet weekly to uplift the soul in prayer. 
A few rude logs up-piled were all the walls. 
There were four windows and a door, not e'en 
Adorned with rudest art ; and in the midst 
A pulpit, cushioned not, nor overhung 
With crimson folds of fringed drapery, 
Nor graced with gilded volumes richly bound. 
Amid the mountain pines the low roof stood. 
And mountain hands had reared it ; but it wore 
An air of reverence. 

Few paces onward, 
O'ershadowed more by the green underwood. 
Some slight raised mounds showed where the dead were laid. 
No gravestone told who slept beneath the turf, 
(Perchance the heart that deeply mourns needs not 
Such poor remembrancer.) The forest flowers 
Themselves had fondly clustered there ; and white 
Azalias, with sweet breath, stood round about. 



25S SABBATH MORXIXG IX THE COUNTRY. 

Like fair young maidens mourning o'er their dead. 

In some sweet solitude like this I would 

That I might sleep my last, long, dreamless sleep . 

O, quiet resting place ! divine repose ! 

Let not my voice, I whispered, O, let not 

My heedless step profane thy sanctity ! 

Still shall sweet summer smiling linger here, 

Ajid wasteful winter lightly o'er thee pass ; 

Bright dews of morning jewel thee ! and aR 

The silent stars watch over thee at night ; 

The mountains clasp thee lovingly within 

Their giant arms, and ever round thee hoAv 

The everlasting forests ; for thou art 

In thy simplicity a holy spot, 

And not unmeet for heavenly worshipper. 







LOVE thy singing, sacred as the sound of hymns. 
On some bright Sabbath morning, on the moor. 
Where all is still save praise ; and where, hard by. 
The ripe grain shakes its bright beard in the sun: 
The wild bee hums more solemnly ; the deep sky 
The fresh green grass, the sun, and sunny brooks 
All look as if they knew the day, the hour. 

And felt wi'.h man the need and joy of thanks. 



MAKE YOUR MARK. 25 'J 



Maki pMS* Mark. 

— 52j — (2)avid ^arlcer. 

N the quarries should you toil, 
^' P Make your mark ; 

(p>Og Do you delve upon the soil, 
Make your mark ; 
In whatever path you go, 

In whatever place you stand, 
Moving swift or mox-ing slow. 
With a firm and honest hand 
Make your mark. 

Should opponents hedge your wet, 

Make your mark ; 
Work by night, or work by day. 

Make your mark ; 
Struggle manfully and well. 
Let no obstacles oppose ; 
None, right-shielded, ever fell 
By the weapons of his foes ; 
Make your mark. 

What though born a peasant's son ; 

Make your mark ; 
Good by poor men can be done ; 

Make your mark ; 
Peasants' garbs may warm the cold, 
Peasants' words may calm a feox .; 
Better far than hoarding gold 
Is the drying of a tear ; 
Make your mark. 



2G0 



life's morning, noon, and evening. 



Life is fleeting as a shade : 

Make your mark ; 
Marks of some kind must be made ; 

Make your mark ; 
Make it Avhile the arm is strong, 
In the golden hours of youth ; 
Never, never make it wrong ; 

Make it with the stamp of triith ; 
Make your mark. 



Lxf^'s Earatisigj MqqEj and iwasag. 



L. M- @. 



SAW her when life's tide was high, 
When youth was hovering o'er her brow ; 
When joy was dancing in her eye, 

And her cheek blushed hope's crimson glow. 

I saw her 'mid a fairy throng ; 

She seemed the gayest of the gay ; 
I saw her lightly glide along, 

'Neath beauty's smile and pleasure's lay. 



1 saw her in her bridal robe ; 

The blush of joy was mounting high ; 
I marked her bosom's heaving throb, 

I marked her dark and downcast eye. 



DISASTEHS. 2G1 

I saw her when a mother's love 

Asked at her hand a mother's care • 

She looked an angel from above, 
Hovering around a cherub fair. 

I saw her not till, cold and pale, 
She slumbered on Death's icy arm ; 

The rose had faded on her cheek, 
Her lip had lost its power to charm. 

That eye was dim which brightly shone, 
That brow was cold, that heart was still ; 

The witcheries of that form had flown. 
The lifeless clay had ceased to feel. 

I saw her wedded to the grave ; 

Her bridal robes were weeds of death ; 
And o'er her pale, cold brow was hung 

The damp, sepulchral, icy wreath. 



Longfell 



ISASTERS come not singly, 
But as if they watched and waited. 
Scanning one another's motions. 
'hff\ When the first descends, the others 
Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise 
Round their victim sick and wounded — 
First a shadow, then a sorrow, 
Till the air is dark with anguish. 





2G2 



WEALTH XOT HAPPINESS. 



W^altfii Is not 



Jlrs. JTaHoTh. 




HAVE tasted each varied pleasure. 
And drank of the cup of delight ; 
I have danced to the gayest measure. 
In the halls of dazzling light. 

I have dwelt in a blaze of splendor, 
And stood in the court of kings ; 
I have snatched at each toy that could render 
More rapid the flight of Time's wings. 

But vainly I've sought for joy and peace 

In the life of light and shade ; 
And I turn with a sigh to my own dear home, 

That home where my childhood played. 

When jewels are sparkling round me, 

And dazzling with their rays, 
I weep for ties that bound me 

In life's first early days. 

I sigh for one of the sunny hours, 

Ere day was turned to night ; 
For one of my nosegays of fresh wild flowers, 

Instead of these jewels bright. 



— -.*3^f<®i'&*-5^ 



THE CIIARXEL SHIP. 2G3 



Lucretia J/[. (X)cividcan,. 

HE breeze blew fair, the waving sea 
mJJL/ Curled sparkling round the vessel's side ; 
^<A^ The canvas spread with bosom free 
Its swan-like pinions o'er the tide. 




Evening had gemmed with glittering stars 
Her coronet, so dark and grand ; 

The queen of night with fleecy clouds 
Had formed her turban's snowy band. 

On, on the stately vessel flew, 

With streamer waving far and wide ; 

When, lo ! a bark appeared in view. 
And gayly danced upon the tide. 

Each way the breeze its wild wing veered. 
That way the stranger-vessel turned : 

Now near she drew ; now, wafted far. 
She fluttered, trembled, and returned. 

" It is the pirate's cursed bark ! 

'ITie villains linger to decoy ; 
Thus bounding o'er the waters dark. 

They seek to lure, and then destroy. 

" Perchance those strange and wayward signs 
May be the signals of distress," 



264 THE CHARNEL SHIP. 

The captain cried ; " for, mark ye, now, 
Her sails are flapping wide and loose." 

And now the stranger-vessel came 
Near to that gay and gallant bark ; 

It seemed a wanderer, fair and lone, 
Upon life's wave, so deep and iaik. 

And not a murmur, not a sound, 

Came from that lone and dreary ship ; 

The icy chains of silence bound 
Each rayless eye and pallid lip. 

For Death's wing had been waving there ; 

The cold dew hung on every brow, 
And sparkled there, like angel tears. 

Shed o'er the silent crew below. 

Onward that ship was gayly flying, 

Its bosom the sailor's grave ; 
The breeze, 'mid the shrouds, in low notes sighiui 

Their requiem over the brave. 

Fly on, fly on, thou lone vessel of death. 

Fly on with thy desolate crew ; 
For mermaids are twining a sea-weed wreath 

'Mong the red coral groves for you. 



<^K3 ^SJ?-^^=r-=^ 




A HOME TO REST IX. 2G5 

A Eanie to rest ia. 

HE world, dear John, as the old folks told us, 

Is a world of trouble and care ; 
Many a cloud of grief will enfold us. 

And the sunshine of joy is but rare. 
But there's something yet to be bright and 
blest in, 

No matter how humble the lot ; 
The world still gives us a home to rest in. 

Its holiest, happiest spot. 

Sweet home ! dear home ! on the northern heather 

On the sunniest southern plain ; 
The Lapland hut in its wintry weather, 

The tent of the Indian main ; 
Be it gorgeous wealth that our temple is dressed in. 

Be it poor and of little worth, 
O home, our home — a home to rest in — 

Is the dearest thing on earth. 

But time, dear John, is using us badly ; 

Our homes crumble day by day. 
And we're laying our dear ones, swiftly and sadly. 

In the dust of the valley away. 
There's a death robe soon for us both to rest in, 

A place for us under the sod ; 
Be heaven at last the home we shall rest in. 

The rest for the children of God ! 



2CG THE EVENING SAIL. 




Crahhe. 

MONG the joys, 'tis one at eve to sail 
On the broad river, with a favorite gale ; 
'When no rough waves upon the bosom ride, 
But the keel cuts, nor rises on the tide ; 
Safe from the stream the nearer gunwale stands, 
Where playful children trail their idle hands, 
Or strive to catch long grassy leaves that float 
On either side of the impeded boat ; 
What time the moon arising shows the mud, 
A shining border to the silver flood : 
When, by her dubious light, the meanest views. 
Chalk, stones, and stakes, obtain the richest hues ; 
And when the cattle, as they gazing stand, 
Seem nobler objects than when viewed from land ; 
Then anchored vessels in the way appear, 
And sea-boys greet them as they pass, •' What cheer?" 
The sleeping shell-ducks at the sound arise, 
And utter loud their unharmonious cries ; 
Fluttering, they move their weedy beds among. 
Or instant diving, hide their plumeless young. 
Along the wall, returning from the town. 
The weary rustic homeward wanders down ; 
Who stops and gazes at such joyous crew, 
And feels his envy rising at the view ; 
He the light speech and laugh indignant hears, 
And feels more pressed by want, more vexed by feais 




'Among the joys, 'tis one at eve to sail 
On the broad river, witli a favoring o-ale.' 



■ Pa?e 266. 



THE EVENING SAIL. 2C' 

Ah ! go in peace, good fellow, to thine home, 
Nor fancy these escape the general doom ; 
Gay as they seem, be sure with them are hearts 
With sorrow tried ; there s sadness in their parts : 
If thou couldst see them when they think alone. 
Mirth, music, friends, and those amusements gone , 
Couldst thou discover every secret ill 
That pains their spirit, or resists their will : 
Couldst thou behold forsaken Love's distress. 
Or Envy's pang at glory and success. 
Or Beauty, conscious of the spoils of Time, 
Or Guilt alarmed when Memory shows the crime ; 
All that gives sorrow, terror, grief, and gloom ; 
Content would cheer thee trudging to thine home. 

There are, 'tis true, who lay their cares aside. 
And bid some hours in calm enjoyment glide ; 
Perchance some fair one to the sober night 
Adds (by the sweetness of her song) delight ; 
And as the music on the water floats, 
Some bolder shore returr s the softened notes ; 
Then, youth, beware, for all around conspire 
To banish caution and to wake desire ; 
The day's amusement, feasting, beauty, wine. 
These accents sweet and this soft hour combine, 
When most unguarded, then to win that heart of thiue. 
But see, they land ! the fond enchantment flies,. 
Anc Jr. its place life's common views arise. 




268 THE GRAVE OF MUS. .TUDSON. 



Th% ii*a¥@ of Mrs. Jmdsoa. 

Jlliss J.L Iiemiok 

OT where the chimes of the Sabbath bell 

Ring out the peaceful air, 
As multitudes through the silent street 

Wend their way to the house of prayer ; 
Not where the wild rose showers down 

Her leaves in the paths untrod, 
Where the oaks and the rustling aspens wave 

O'er New England's flowery sod ; — 



But lone and still is her island grave 

'Neath the broad blue spreading sky, 
Where the waves rise up with their sounding dirge, 

And the hurrying ships go by ; 
Afar from the bloom of that gorgeous land 

Where her toiling youth was spent, 
With a load of cares, and griefs, and hopes, 

Her life's short summer was blent. 

That island grave with its swelling turf, 

Where the gray cliffs proudly rise, 
I look to-day on the glistening stone? 

In the light of the summer skies ; 
And sadly I think of the little band 

That are scattered far and wide ; 
One sleeping down where the corals grow, 

Under the surging tide. 



iiArPiXESS. 2G9 

They will gather all in the angel home 

That brighten that heavenly land — 
The wife who sleeps in the island grave, 

The boy from the Indian strand ; 
And they who are wanderers on the earth, 

How glad will the meeting be 
Of that widely-scattered household band 

In the land beyond the sea ! 





(PolloJc. 



RUE happiness had no localities ; 

No tones provincial ; no peculiar garb. 
®)) Where duty went, she went ; with justice went, 

And went with meekness, charity, and love. 
Where'er a tear was dried ; a wounded heart 
Bound up ; a bruised spirit with the dew 
Of sympathy anointed ; or a pang 
Of honest suffering soothed ; or injury 
Repeated oft, as oft by love forgiven : 
Where'er an evil passion was subdued, 
Or virtue's feeble embers fanned ; where'er 
A sin was heartily abjured, and left ; 
Where'er a pious act was done, or breathed 
A pious prayer, or wished a pious wish, — 
There was a high and holy place, a spot 
Of sacred light, a most religious fane. 
Where Happine&s, descending, sat and smiled. 



270 THE CORNELIAN. 



Til© ^Qrielk®. 



JBirroTh. 




specious splendor of this stone 
Endears it to my memory ever ; 

With lustre only once it shone, 
;^ And blushes modest as the giver. 

Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties, 
Have for my weakness oft reproved me ; 

Yet still the simple gift I prize, 
For I am sure the giver loved me. 

He offered it with dowhcast lock, 
As fearful that I might refuse it ; 

1 told him, when the gift I took, 

My only fear should be to lose it. 

This pledge attentively I viewed, 
And sparkling as I held it near, 

Methought one drop the stone bedewed, 
And ever since I've loved a tear. 

Still to adorn his humble youth. 

Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield; 
But he who seeks the flowers of truth 

Must quit the garden for the field. 

*Tis not the plant upreared in sloth 

Which beaut}' shows, and sheds perfume ; 



GOD BLESS OUR FATHER LAND. 271 



The flowers which yield the most of both 
In nature's wild luxuriance bloom. 

Had Fortune aided Nature's care, 
For once forgetting to be blind. 

His would have been an ample share, 
If well-proportioned to his mind. 

But had the goddess clearly seen. 
His form had fixed her fickle breast ; 

Her countless hoards would his have been. 
And none remained to give the rest. 




O. W. Hobnes 

OD bless our father land, 
^eep her in heart and hand 

One with our own ; 
From all her foes defend. 
Be her brave people's Friend ; 
On all her realms descend ; 

Protect her throne. 

Father, in loving care 
Guard thou her kingdom's heir. 
Guide all his ways ; 



272 ONLY OXE LIFE. 



Thine arm his shelter be 
From harm by land and sea ; 
Bid storm and danger flee ; 
Prolong his days. 

Lord, bid war's trumpet cease ; 
Fold the whole earth in peace 

Under thy wings ; 
Make all thy nations one. 
All hearts beneath thy sun, 
Till thou shalt reign alone. 

Great King; of kingrs. 



@ai LIfi. 



jfincn. 




IS not for man to trifle : life is brief, 

And sin is here. 
Our age is but the falling of a leaf, 

A dropping tear. 
We have no time to sport away the hours ; 
All must be earnest in a world like ours. 



Not many lives, but only one have we ; 

One, only one. 
How sacred should that one life ever be — 
Day after day filled up with blessed toil. 
Hour after hour still bringing in new spoil ! 



THE MAY QUEEN. 273 



^ Tb.© Ma| Cltseea, 



yllfred Tennyson. 



IP^a? ^3337, 



',^^) 




")U must wake and call me early, call me earlj , 
=) mother dear ; 

L To-morrow '11 be the happiest time of all the glad 
new year ; 
Of all the glad new year, mother, the maddest, 

merriest day ; 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to 
be Queen o' the May. 

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, 

If you do not call me loud, when the day begins to break ; 

But I must gather knots of flo\vers, and buds and gar- 
lands gay. 

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen 
o' the May. 

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green. 
And you'll be there too, mother, to see me made the 

Queen ; 
For the shepherd lads on every side '11 come from far 

away, 
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother,' I'm to be Queen 

o' the May. 

Ail the valley, mother, 'U be fresh, and green, and still. 
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill. 



274 THE MAY QUEEX. 



And the rivulet in the flowery dale '11 merrily glance and 

play, 
F'or I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen 

o' the May. 

Sc you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother 

dear ; 
To-morrow '11 be the happiest time of all the glad new 

year; 
To-morrow '11 be of all the year the maddest, merriest 

day, 
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen 

o' the May. 

If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear; 
For I would see the sun rise upon the glad new year ; 
It is the last new year that I shall ever see ; 
Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and think no 
more of me. 

To-night I saw the sun set ; he set and left behind 

The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace 

of mind ; 
And the new year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see 
The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree. 

There's not a flower on all the hills ; the frost is on the 

pane ; 
I only wish to live till the snow-drops come agam ; 
I wish the snow would melt, and the sun come out on high • 
I long to see a flower so before the day I die. 



THE MAY QUEEX. 



The building rook '11 caw from the win4y, tall elm-tree, 

And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, 

And the swallow 'U come back again with summer o'er tb( 

wave, 
But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mo\ddering grave. 

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning 

light. 
You'll never see me more in the long, gray fields at night ; 
When from the dry, dark wold the summer airs blow 

cool. 
On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in 

the pool. 

You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn 

shade. 
And you'll come sometimes a i i see me where I am lowly 

laid. 
I shall not forget you, mother ; I shall hear you when you 

pass 
With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant 

grass. 

If I can m come again, mother, from out my resting 

place ; 
Thougli you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon ycur 

face ; 
Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you 

say, 
And be often, often Avith you when you think I'm far 

away. 



27G THE 3IAV QUEEX. 



Good night, ^ood night ; when I have said good night for- 

evermore, 
And you see me carried out from the threshold of the 

door, 
Don t let Effie come to see me till my grjve be growing 

green ; 
She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been. 

Good night, sweet mother ; call me before the day is bom ; 
All night I lie a-wake, but I fall asleep at morn ; 
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New Year ; 
So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear. 

I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am ; 
And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb. 
How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year ; 
To die before the snow-drop came, and now the violet's here. 

0, sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies ; 
And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me, tliat cannot 

rise ; 
And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that 

blow ; 
And sweeter far is death than life to me, that long to go. 

I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death watch 

beat ; 
riiere came a sweeter token when the night and morning 

meet ; 
But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in mine 
A,nd Efhe on the other side, and I will tell the sign. 



THE MAY QUEEN. 277 



All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call ; 
It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all ; 
The trees began to whisper, and the Avind began to roll, 
And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul. 

For lying broad awake, I thought of you and Effie dear; 
I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here ; 
With all my strength I prayed foi both, and so I felt 

resigned. 
And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind. 

I thought that it was fancy, and I listened in my bed, 
And then did something speak to me — I know not what 

was said ; 
For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind, 
And up the valley came again the music of the wind. 

But you were sleeping, and I said, " It's not for them ; it's 

mine." 
And if it comes three times, I thought, I'd take it for a sign. 
And once again it came, and close beside the window-bars, 
Then seemed to go right up to Heaven, and die among 

the stars. 

So now I think my time is near, I trust it is. I know 
The blessed music went that way my soul will love to go. 
And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day ; 
But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am passed away 

O, look ! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow ; 
He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know ; 



BONDS OF AFFECTIOX. 



And there I move no longer now, and there his light may 

shine, 
Wild flowers in the valley, for other hands than mine. 

O, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day i^ done. 
The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun — 
Forever and forever with those just souls and true : 
And what is life, that we should moan ? ^Vhy make we 
siich ado ? 

Forever and forever, all in a blessed home, 
And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come — 
To lie within the light of God as I lie upon your breast. 
And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are 
at rest. 



s of 



Landon. 




HERE is in life no blessing like affection ; 
It soothes, it hallows, elevates, subdues. 
And bringeth down to earth its native heaven. 
It sits beside the cradle patient hours. 
Whose sole contentment is to watch and love ; 
It bendeth o'er the death-bed, and conceals 
Its OAvn despair with words of faith and hope. 
Life has nought else that may supply its place ; 
Void is ambition, cold is vanity. 
And wealth au empty glitter, without love. 



MY CREED. 279 




jUiae Gary. 

HOLD that Christian grace abounds 
Where charity is seen ; that when 
We climb to heaven, 'tis on the rounds 
Of love to men. 

I hold all else, named piety, 

A selfish scheme, a vain pretence ; 
Where centre is not, can there be 
Circumference ? 

This I moreover hold, and dare 

Affirm where'er my rhyme may go : 
Whatever things be sweet or fair, 
Love makes them so. 



Whether it be the sickle's rush 

Through wheat fields, or the fall of showers, 
Or by some cabin door a bush 
Of rugged flowers. 

'Tis not the wide phylactery. 

Nor stubborn fast, nor stated prayers, 
That make us saints ; we judge the tree 
By what it bears. 

And when a man can live apart 
From works, on theologic trust, 
know the blood about his heart 
Is dry as dust. 




280 THE ROSE BY THE WAYSIDE. 



Tho Ease hj tlie WaysM^- 

(2).j5. (provjn. 

LITTLE rose bloomed ia the way 
In which I roamed one sunny day ; 
)f^ It looked so fair, 
H^I wondered why alone it grew, 

And why so long concealed from view 
While nestling there. 

Its blushing petals, wide outspread, 
A richer perfume quickly shed. 

Dripping with dew, 
Which seemed in whispered tones to say 
As soon I put the thorns away, 

" I bloomed for you. 

" The sunshine kissed my lips at uiuru, 
Soon as I peeped to hail the dawn. 

With blushes red ; 
I was content through day to day ; 
No roaming footsteps passed this way 

By beauty led." 

I claimed the treasure, pure and fair, 
As all mine own ; with special care 

I kept it long ; 
I said sweet sayings o'er and o'er : 
But one bright morn it spoke no more; 

Its leaves were gone. 



FROM AN ITALIAN SONNET. 



281 



Thus in the varied paths of life, 
Amid its cares, its toils, its strife, 

We often roam ; 
Then some sweet memories charm us here, 
Some holy thoughts dispel all fear, 

And guide us home. 

And when earth's charms, like withered flowers, 
Amid affliction's darkest hours 

No longer cheer, 
A holy peace, a quiet joy. 
Which unbelief can ne'er destroy, 

Brings Heaven near. 

— "'^^^ — 




From aa Italka Eaaaet. 



I^ogers. 



SAID to Time, " This' venerable pile, 
tts floor the earth, its roof the firmament. 
Whose was it once ? " He answered not, but fled 
Fast as before. I turned to Fame, and asked, 
"Names such as his, to thee they must be 

known ; 

Speak ! " But she answered only with a sigh. 
And, musing mournfully, looked on the ground. 
Then to Oblivion I addrcssea myself — 
A dismal phantom, sitting at the gate ; 
And, with a voice as from the grave, he cried, 
" Whose it was once I care not ; now 'tis mine I " 



282 



LOVE AKD REASON. 






J/Iore. 




WAS in the summer time so sweet, 

When hearts and flowers are both in season. 

That — who, of all the world, should meet. 
One early dawn, but Love and Reason ! 



Love told his dream of yesternight. 

While Reason talked about the weather ; 
The morn, in sooth, was fair and bright, 
And on they took their way together. 



The boy in many a gambol flew. 

While Reason, like a Juno, stalked, 

And from her portly figure threw 
A lengthened shadow as she walked. 



No wonder Love, as on they passed, 
Should find that sunny morning chill; 

For still the shadow Reason cast 

Fell on the boy, and cooled him still. 

In vain he tried his wings to warm. 
Or find a pathway not so dim, 

For still the maid's gigantic form 

Would pass between the sun and him 1 

" This must not be," said little Love — 
" The sun was made for more than you. 



LOVE AND REASON. 283 

So, turning through a myrtle grove, 
He bade the portly nymph adieu. 

Now gladly roves the laughing boy 
O'er many a mead, by many a stream, 

In every breeze inhaling joy. 

And drinking bliss in every beam. 

From all the gardens, all the bowers, 
He culled the many sweets they shaded. 

And ate the fruits, and smelled the flowers, 
Till taste was gone and odor faded. 

But now the sun, in pomp of noon. 

Looked blazing o'er the parched plains ; 

Alas ! the boy grew languid soon. 

And fever thrilled through all his veins ; 

The dew forsook his baby brow. 

No more with vivid bloom he smiled ; 

O, where was tranquil Reason now. 
To cast her shadow o'er the child ? 

Beneath a green and aged palm. 

His foot, at length, for shelter turning, 

He saw the nymph reclining calm. 

With brow as cool as his was burning 

" O, take me to that bosom cold," 

In murmurs at her feet he said ; 
And Reason oped her garment's fold, 

And flung it round his fevered head. 



284: THE bride's farewell. 

He felt her bosom's icy touch, 

And soon It lulled his pulse to rest ; 

For, ah ! the chill was quite too much, 
And Love expired on Reason's breast. 

— '^^^^b^^^^<^^ — 



Hj 




Jifrs. Semans. 

(\ HY do I weep ? to leave the vine 
Whose clusters o'er me bend, — 
l]A The myrtle — yet, O call it mine. 
The flowers I loved to tend. 
A thousand thoughts of all things dear 

Like shadows o'er me sweep. 
To leave my sunny childhood here ; 
O, therefore let me weep. 

I leave thee, sister ; we have played 

Through many a joyous hour, 
Where the silvery green of the olive shade 

Hung dim o'er fount and bower ; 
Yes, thou and I, by stream, by shore, 

In song, in prayer, in sleep, 
Have been as we may be no more ; 

Kind sister, let me weep. 

I leave thee, father ; eve's bright moon 

Must now light other feet, 
With the gathered grapes, and the lyre in tune, 

Thy homeward step to greet. 



THE DAYS OF YORE. 285 

Thou in whose voice, to bless thy child, 

Rang tones of love so deep, 
Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiled, 

I leave thee ; let me weep. 

Mother, I leave thee ; on thy breast, 

Pouring out joy and woe, 
I have found that holy place of rest 

Still changeless — yet I go. 
Lips that have lulled me with your strain, 

Eyes that have watched my sleep. 
Will earth give love like yours again ? 

Sweet mother, let me weep. 



TOe Bays ©f Yore. 

(I)ou^las Thompson. 



OU see the slender spire that peers 

Above the trees that skirt the stream ; 
'Twas there I passed those early years 

Which now seem like some happy dream. 
You see the vale that bounds the view ; 

'Twas there my father's mansion stood, 
Before the grove, whose varied hue 

Ts mirrored in the tranquil flood. 




There's not a stone remaining there, 
A relic of that fine old hall ; 



286 THE PATH OF IXDEPEXDEXCE. 

For strangers came the spot to share, 
And bade the stately structure fall ! 

But now, if Fortune proves my friend, 
And gives me what may yet remain, 

In that dear spot my days to end, 
I'll build a mansion there again. 



Th% FatBi of ladej^eadeaoe. 



Jlnon. 




N easy task it is to tread 

The path the multitude will take; 
But independence dares the stake 
If but by fair conviction led. 

Then haste, truth-seeker, on thy way. 
Nor heed the worldling's smile or frown ; 
The brave alone shall wear the crown, 

The noble only clasp the bay. 

Go, worker of the public weal ; 

When knaves combine, and plot and plan, 

Assert the dignity of man, 
Teach the dishonest hearts to feel. 

Still keep thy independence whole ; 

Let nothing wEirp thee from thy course. 
And thou shalt wield a giant's force. 

And \vrong before thy foot shall roU. 




There's a little low hut by the river side. Paije 287. 



A PICTURE. 



28; 



S- (P. Sfiillaher. 




HERE'S a little low hut by tlic river side, 
Within the sound of its rip})ling tide ; 
Its walls are gray with the moss of years, 
And its roof all crumbly and old appears ; 
But fairer to me than a castle's pride 
Is the little low hut by the river side. 



The little low liut was my natal nest, 

Where my childhood passed — life's spring-time blest ; 

Where the hopes of ardent youth were formed, 

And the sun of promise my young heart warmed. 

Ere I threw myself on life's swift tide. 

And left the dear hut by the river side. 

That little old hut, in lowly guise, 
Was lofty and grand to my youthful eyes. 
And fairer trees were ne'er known before 
Than the apple-trees by the humble door. 
That my father loved for their thrifty pride, 
\V'hich shadowed the hut by the river's side. 

That little low hut had a glad hearth-stone. 
That echoed of old with a pleasant tone 
And brothers and sisters, a merry crew. 
Filled the hours with pleasure as on they flew ; 
But one by one have the loved ones died 
That dwelt in the hut by the river's side. 



288 A PICTURE. 

The father and the children gay 

The grave and the world have called away ; 

But quietly all alone there sits 

By the pleasant window in summer, and knits, 

An aged woman, long years allied 

With the little old hut by the river's side. 

That little old hut to the lonely wife 
Is the cherished stage of her active life ; 
Each scene is recalled in memory's beam, 
As she sits by the window in pensive dream, 
And joys and woes roll back like a tide, 
In that little old hut by the river's side. 

My mother ! — alone, by the river side, 

She waits for the flood of the heavenly tide, 

And the voice that shall thrill her heart with its call 

To meet once more with the dear ones all. 

And form, in a region beautified, 

The band that first met by the river's side. 

That dear old hut by the river's side 
With the warmest pulse of my heart is allied. 
And a glory is over its dark walls thrown 
That statelier fabrics have never known ; 
And I shall still love, with a fonder pride. 
That little old hut by the river's side. 




AX ACROSTIC. 289 



^/fv^'LECTRIC essence permeates the air, 
y^ Lighting the heavens with its brilliant glare. 
Encircling planets in its huge embrace, 
Controlling all the elements of space. 
'Tis this that sways the immortal mind, 
Refines and elevates all human kind. 
In it the spirit finds its highest light. 
Celestial source of God, the Infinite. 
In vain doth man its secrets strive to know ; 
Time nor eternity can all its secrets show. 
Ye minds progressive, whose great spirits yearn 
In Nature's face her attributes to learn. 
Shut off the gross and dark external view. 
The gross and selfish, and behold the true. 
Heaven is a fiower to full perfection grown, 
Earth is a bud that's not yet fully blown ; 
Both are the offshoots of one parent stem, 
Resting like jewels in God's diadem. 
Earth seems fairest when by Heaven embraced. 
As pearls show purest when near rubies placed. 
The height of pleasure is where pain is not ; 
Heaven is nearest when earth is most forgot. 
Of this be sure : when the electric fires 
From spheres celestial fan thy soul's desires, 
God speaks to thee ! as when the gentle dove 
On Jesus' head descended from above. 
Divinely laden with celestial love. 




290 FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Shakespeare . 
— M>®v«E^^ — 

Lorenzo. 
OW sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 
Here Avill we sit, and let the sounds of music 
Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night. 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica : look, how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ; 
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 

But in his motion like an angel sings, 

Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims : 

Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 

But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 

Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 

[Enter Musicians, 

Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ; 

With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, 

And draw her home with music. 

Jessica. 
I am never merry when I hear sweet music. 

[3Iusic. 

LOREXZO. 

The reason is, your spirits are attentive ; 

For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 

Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 

Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud 

Which is the hot condition of their blood ; 

If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound. 



THE POET. 291 



Or any air of music touch their ears, 

You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 

Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze 

By the sweet power of music ; therefore, the poet 

Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; 

Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, 

But music for the time doth change his nature. 

The man that hath no music in himself, 

Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 

Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils : 

The motions of his spirit are dull as night. 

And his afiections dark as Erebus : 

Let no such man be trusted. 



FROM THE LAY OF THE LA8T MDfSTREL. 



8joit. 




ALL it not vain ; they do not err, 
Who say, that when the Poet dies, 

Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, 
And celebrates his obsequies ; 

Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, 

For the departed Bard make moan ; 

That mountains weep in crystal rill ; 
That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 
Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, 
And oaks, in deeper groans, reply ; 



292 THE POET. 

And rivers teach their rushing wave 
To murmur dirges rourd his grave. 

Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn 

Those things inan'.mate can mourn ; 

But that the stream, the wood, the gale, 

Is vocal with the plaintive wail 

Of those who, else forgotten long. 

Lived in the poet's faithful song ; 

And, when the poet's parting breath. 

Whose memory feels a second death, 

The maid's pale shade, who wails her lot. 

That love, true love, should be forgot, 

From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear 

Upon the gentle minstrel's bier ; 

The phantom knight, his glory fled. 

Mourns o'er the field he heaped with dead ; 

Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amain, 

And shrieks along the battle-plain. 

The chief, whose antique crownlet long 

Still sparkled in the feudal song. 

Now, from the mountain's misty throne, 

Sees, in the thanedom once his own, 

His ashes undistinguished lie. 

His place, his power, his memory die ; 

His groans the lonely caverns fill ; 

His tears of rage impel the rill : 

All mourn the minstrel's harp unstrung, 

Their name unknown, their praise unsung. 



ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTLRE. 293 



Olustoatsaa of a Piotari. 



A SPANISH GIRL IS REVERIE. 

O. W. Holmes 




HE twirled the string of golden beads 

That round her neck was hung — 
My grandsire's gift ; the good old man 

Loved girls when he was young ; 
And, bending lightly o'er the cord. 

And turning half away. 
With something like a youthful sigh, 

Thus spoke the maiden gay : — 



" Well, one may trail her silken robe. 

And bind her locks with pearls ; 
And one may wreathe the woodland rose 

Among her floating curls ; 
And one may tread the dewy grass. 

And one the marble floor. 
Nor half-hid bosom heave the less. 

Nor broidered corset more ! 

*' Some years ago, a dark-eyed girl 

AVas sitting in the shade, — 
There's something brings her to my mind 

In that young dreaming maid, — 
And in her hand she held a flower, 

A flower whose speaking hue 
Said, in the language of the heart. 

Believe the giver true. 



294 ILLUSTIJATIOX OF A PICTURE. 

" And, as she looked upon its leaves, 

The maiden made a vow 
To wear it when the bridal ^vreath 

Was woven for her brow ; 
She watched the flower, as, day by day, 

The leaflets curled and died ; 
But he who gave it never came 

To claim her for his bride. 

" O, many a summer's morning glow 

Has lent the rose its ray. 
And many a winter's drifting snow 

Has swept its bloom away ; 
But she has kept that faithless pledge 

To this her winter hour. 
And keeps it still, herself alone, 

And wasted like the flower." 

Her pale lip quivered, and the light 

Gleamed in her moistening eyes. 
I asked her how she liked the tints 

In those Castilian skies : 
" She thought them misty — 'twas perhaps 

Because she stood too near." 
She turned away, and as she turned, 

I saw her wipe a tear. 




THE DIVER. 295 



_}/[rs. Semans. 



IIOU hast been where the rocks of coral o-row 
"" Thou hast fought with eddying waves ; 
Thy cheek is pale, and thy heart beats low, 
Thou searcher of ocean's caves. 

Thou hast looked on the gleaming wealth of old, 
And wrecks where the brave have striven ; 

The deep is a strong and fearful hold, 
But thou its bar hast riven ! 

A wild and weary life is thine, 

A wasting task and lone, 
Though treasure-grots for thee may shine 

To all beside unknown. 

A weary life ; but a swift decay 

Soon, soon shall set thee free ; 
Thou'rt passing fast from thy toils away 

Thou Avrestler with the sea ! 

In thy dim eye, on thy hollow cheek. 

Well are the death-signs read — 
Go ! for the pearl in its cavern seek, 

Ere hope and power be fled. 

And bright in beauty's coronal 

That glistening gem shall be, 
A star to all in the festive hall ; 

But who will think on thee ? 



296 THE DIVER. 



None ; as it gleams from the queen-like head, 
Not one 'midst throngs will say, 

" A life hath been like a rain-drop shed 
For that pale, quivering ray." 

Woe for the wealth thus dearly bought i 

And are not those like thee, 
Who win for earth the gems of thought ? 

O wrestler with the sea ! 

Down to the gulfs of the soul they go, 
^Miere the passion-fountains bum, 

Gathering the jewels far below 
From many a buried urn ; — 

Wringing from lava veins the fire 
That o'er bright words is poured ; 

Learning deep sounds, to make the lyre 
A spirit in each chord. 

But O, the price of bitter tears, 

Paid for the lonely power 
That throAvs at last o'er desert years 

A darkly glorious dower ! 

Like flower seeds, by the wild wind spread,. 
So radiant thoughts are strewed ; 

The soul whence those high gifts are shed, 
May faint in solitude. 

And who will think, when the strain is sung 
TUl a thousand hearts are stirred, 



THROUGH THE DARKNESS. 297 

What life-drops, from the minstrel wrung, 
Ha ve gushed with every word ? 

None, none ! his treasures live like thine ; 

He strives and dies like thee ; 
Thou, that hast been to the pearl's dark shrine, 

O -^vrestler with the sea ! 



V£h tfiie Barkaess, 



William Winter. 



F the road grow dark before you reach 

The home where your true love waits for you. 
Will you linger within the light, and preach 

Of the dangers you may perchance go through ? 
Or will you go on as you ought to do ? 
You will go ; you will care not for darkness and 
storm, 
VoT her dear love will shield you and keep you warm, 

What sort of a life, I would like to know. 

Will any man lead that does not love ? 
ITie frozen ground is cold below. 

And the freezing stars are bright above ; 
But let him lie under the frozen mould ! 
For his heart and the stars and the earth are cold ! 



298 



LIFE AND DEATH. 



The night comes down with an angry frown, 
And the fierce wind shrills on the lonely moor : 

Look back — to the lights in the distant town ! 
Look on — to the dreary waste before ! 
What waits for you when the journey's o'er ? 

She will give you a sweet, sweet kiss, you know : 

liCt the darkness come and the fierce vjisxd blow ! 

In the path of duty grows many a thorn. 
And bleak is the scorn of a selfish v/orld ; 

But there never w^as night without its morn, 
And after the tempest the clouds are furled ; 

For over all spreadeth the bright blue sky. 

And we trust in our God, who is always nigh ! 



Life aoid B©atE. 

^en Jonson. 



:^:^^ HE ports of death are sins ; of life, good deeds ; 
y Through which our merit leads us to our meeds« 
JjW^ How wilful blind is he, then, that would stray. 
And hath it in his powers to make his way. 
J^ This world death's region is, the other, life's ; 
And here, it should be one of our first strifes 
So to front death as men might judge us past it ; 
For good men but see death, the wicked taste it. 




THE COUNTRY LASSIE. — Page, 290. 



THE COUNTRY LASSIE. 299 




TIji© (SQaatrj Lassie. 



HE blossomed in the country, 

Where sunny summers fling 
Their rosy arms about the earth. 

And brightest blessings bring ; 
Health was her sole inheritance, 

And grace her only dower ; 
I never dreamed the wildwood 

Contained so sweet a flower. 

Far distant from the city, 

And inland from the sea, 
My lassie bloomed in goodness. 

As pure as pure could be ; 
She caught her dewy freshness 

From hill and mountain bower ; 
I never dreamed the wildwood 

Contained so sweet a flower. 

The rainbow must have lent her 

Some of its airy grace, 
1 he wild rose parted with a blush 

That nestled on her face ; 
The sunbeam got entangled in 

The long waves of her hair, 
For she had grown to be 

So modest and so fair. 



jfinon. 



300 THE BREEZE IN THE CHURCH. 

The early birds had taught her 

Their joyous matin song, 
And some of their soft innocence, 

She's been with them so long ; 
And for her now, if need be, 

I'd part with wealth and power ^ 
I never dreamed the wildwood 

Contained so sweet a flower. 




JVLiss Hirhxham. 

WAS a sunny day, and the morning psalm 
We sung in the church together ; 

We felt in our hearts the joy and calm 
Of the calm and joyous weather. 

The slow, and sweet, and sacred strain. 

Through every bosom stealing. 
Checked every thought that was light and vain, 

And waked each holy feeling. 



We knew by its sunny gleam how clear 
Was ths blue sky smiling o'er us. 

And in every pause of the hymn could hear 
The wild birds' happy chorus. 

And lo ! from its haunts by cave or rill, 
With a sudden start awaking, 



THE BREEZE IN THE CHURCH. 301 

A breeze came fluttering down the hill, 
Its fragrant pinions shaking. 

Through the open windows it bent its way, 

And down the chancel centre, 
Like a privileged thing that at will might stray, 

And in holy places enter. 

From niche to niche, from nook to nook, 

With a lightsome rustle flying. 
It lifted the leaves of the Holy Book, 

On the altar cushion lying. 

It fanned the old clerk's hoary hair. 
And the children's bright young faces ; 

Then vanished, none knew hovv or where, 
Leaving its pleasant traces. 

It left sweet thoughts of summer hours 

Spent on the quiet mountains ; 
And the church seemed full of the scent of flowers, 

And the trickling fall of fountains. 

The image of scenes so still and fair 

With our music sweetly blended, 
While it seemed their whispered hymn took share 

In the praise that to Heaven ascended. 

We thought of Him who had poured the rills. 
And through the green mountains led them ; 

Whose hand, when he piled the enduring hills. 
With a mantle of beauty spread them. 



302 ODE. ON ART, 



And a purer passion was borne above, 

In a louder anthem swelling, 
As we bowed to the visible spirit of love, 

On those calm summits dwelling. 



Ode m A£^t. 

Sprag-ue. 

^f1 HEN from the sacred garden driven. 
1 ^ Man fled before his Maker's wrath, 
U^.[i4|H -^^ angel left her place in heaven, 

"^ - ^j^^ crossed the wanderer's sunless path. 
'Twas Art, sweet Art ! new -radiance broke 
When her light foot flew o'er the ground, 
And thus with seraph voice she spoke : 
" The curse a blessing shall be found." 

She led him through the trackless wild, 

Where noontide sun had never blazed ; 
The thistle shrunk, the harvest smiled. 

And Nature gladdened as she gazed. 
Earth's thousand tribes of living things. 

At Art's command, to him are given ; 
The village grows, the city springs. 

And point their spires of faith to heaven. 

He sends the oak, and bids it ride 

To guard the shores its beauty graced ; 

He smites the rock — upheaved in pride, 
See towers of strength and domes of taste 



I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. 



30J 



Earth's teeming cares their wealth reveal ; 

Fire bears his banner on the wave, 
He bids the mortal poison heal, 

And leaps triumphant o'er the grave. 

In fields of air he writes his name. 

And treads the chambers of the sky ; 
He reads the stars, and grasps the flame 

That quivers round the throne on high ; 
In war renowned, in peace sublime. 

He moves in greatness and in grace ; 
His power, subduing space and time. 

Links realm to realm, and race to race. 



/ 



I Eem@m!ier, I Eemembei?. 



Hood. 



REMEMBER, I remember. 

The house where I was born, 
The little window where the sun 

Came peeping in at morn ; 
He never came a wink too soon, 

Nor brought too long a day ; 
But now, I often wish the night 

Had borne my breath away. 

I remember, I remember. 
The roses — red and white ; 

The violets and the lily-cup, 
Those flowers made of light J 



304 



SEXSIBILITY. 



The lilacs where the robin built, 

And where my brother set 
The laburnum on his birthday, — 

The tree is living yet ! 

I remember, I remember. 

Where I was used to swing. 
And thought the air must rush as fresh 

To swalloAvs on the wing ; 
My spirit flew in feathers then, 

That is so heavy now, 
And summer pools could hardly cool 

The fever on my brow. 

I remember, I remember. 

The fir-trees dark and high ; 
I used to think their slender tops 

Were close against the sky ; 
It was a childish ignorance ; 

But now 'tis little joy 
To know I'm farther off from heaven 

Than when I was a boy. 





Iiog-ers. 



HE soul of music slumbers in the shell, 
Till waked and kindled by the master's spell ; 
And feeling hearts — touch them but lightly — pou3 
A thousand melodies unheard before. 




THE OLD AND THE NEW YEAR. 305 



The Ui mi the Kew Year. 

_^non. 

HE old year is passing away, Maud, 
The old year is breathing its last ; 

Its days are nearly numbered, Maud, 
And soon it will be with the past. 

The old year has watched our smiles, Maud, 

The old year has seen our tears. 
And now she is gasping and dying, Maud, 

Whilst we greet the happy new year. 

How many days have been sad, Maud, 

How many days have been gay, 
Since the coming in of the old year, 

To the birth of this new year's day ! 

There are many who were happy and gay, Maud, 

When the last new year came in. 
Who are sleeping below the frozen turf, 

Away from all sorrow and sin. 

Their voices no more will be heard, Maud, 

As they joined us in many a song ; 
But they are up in the skies awaiting us, Maud, 

To join in that happy throng. 

The old year has looked on our good deeds, Maud, 

The old year has watcbed our sins. 
And can not we improve on the past life ? 

Iiet us try when the new year comes in. 




30G LOVED YOU BETTER THAN YOU KNEW. 

-.^^o:r»<» -»- s^tlantic Monthly. 



T was the autumn of the year ; 
The strawberry leaves were red and sere ; 
October's airs were fresh and chill, 
When, pausing on the windy hill, 
The hill that overlooks the sea. 
You talked confidingly to me, — 
Me, whom your keen, artistic sight 
Has not yet learned to read aright, ■ 
Since I have veiled my heart from you, 
And loved you better than you knew. 

You told me of your toilsome past, 

The tardy honors won at last. 

The trials borne, the conquests gained, 

The longed-for boon of fame attained ; 

I knew that every victory 

But lifted you away from me — 

That every step of high emprise 

But left me lowlier in your eyes ; 

I watched the distance as it grew, 

And loved you better than you knew. 

You did not see the bitter trace 
Of anguish sweep across my face ; 
You did not hear my proud heart beat 
Heavy and slow beneath your feet ; 



LOVED YOU BETTER THAN YOU KNEAV. 307 

You thought of triumphs still unwon. 
Of glorious deeds as yet undone ; 
And I, the while you talked to me, 
I watched the gulls float lonesomely, 
Till lost amid the hungry blue, 
And loved you better than you knew. 

You walk the sunny side of fate ; 
The wise world smiles and calls you great ; 
The golden fruitage of success 
Drops at your feet in plenteousness, 
And you have blessings manifold — 
llenow^n, and power, and friends, and gold ; 
They build a wall between us twain. 
Which may not be thrown down again ; 
Alas ! for I, the long years through, 
Have loved you better than you knew. 

Your life's proud aim, your art's high truth. 
Have kept the promise of your youth ; 
And while you won the crown which now 
Breaks into bloom upon your brow, 
My soul cried strongly out to you, 
Across the ocean's yearning blue, 
While, unremembered and afar, 
I watched you as I watch a star 
Through darkness struggling into view. 
And loved you better than you knew. 

I used to dream, in all these years, 
Of patient faith and silent tears, — 



308 TIHE AND ITS CHANGES. 

That Love's strong hand would put aside 
The barriers of place and pride, — 
Would reach the pathless darkness through, 
And draw me softly up to you ; 
But that is past : if you should stray 
Beside my grave, some future day, 
Perchance the violets o'er my dust 
Will half betray their buried trust. 
And say, their blue eyes full of dev/, 
" She loved you better than you knew " 



Time aad Its SfeaEges, 



galley. 




HERE is no charm in time, as time, nor good ; 
The long days are no happier than the short ones. 
'Tis some time now since I was here. We leave 
Our home in youth, no matter to what end ; 
Study, or strife, or pleasure, or what not ; 
And coming back in few short years, Ave find 
All as we left it, outside ; the old elms. 
The house, grass, gates, and latchet's selfsame click ; 
But lift that latchet — all is changed as doom : 
The servants have forgotten our step, and more 
Than half of those who knew us, know us not. 
Adversity, prosperity, the grave, 
Play a round game with friends. On some the woild 
Hath shut its evil eye, and they are passed 



THE TOAST. 309 



From honor and remembrance, and a stare 
Is all the mention of their names receives ; 
And people know no more of them than of 
The shapes of clouds at midnight, a year back. 



IM T©ast. 

Scott. 

HE feast is o'er ! Now brimming wine 
In lordly cup is seen to shine 

Before each eager guest ; 
And silence fills the crowded hall. 
As deep as when the herald's call 

Thrills in the royal breast. 

Then up arose the noble host, 

And smiling, cried, " A toast, a toast, 

To all our ladyes fair. 
Here, before all, I pledge the name 
Of Staunton's proud and beauteous dame, 

The Ladye Gundamere." 

Then to his feet each gallant sprung, 
And joyous was the shout that rung 

As Stanley gave the word : 
And every cup was raised on high, 
Nor ceased the loud and gladsome cr}% 

Till Stanley's voice was heard. 




310 TIIK TOAST. 

"Enough, enough," he smiling said, 
And lov.'ly bent his haughty head ; 

" That all may have their due, 
Now each in turn must play his part. 
And pledge the ladye of liis heart, 

Like gallant knight and true." 

Then one by one each guest sprung up. 
And drained in turn the brimming cup. 

And named the loved one's name ; 
And each, as hand "n high he raised, 
His ladye's grace or beauty praised. 

Her constancy and fame. 

'Tis now St. Leon's turn to rise ; 

On him are fixed those countless eyes ; 

A gallant knight is he ; 
Envied by some, admired by all. 
Far-famed in lady's bower and hall, 

The flower of chivalry. 

St. Leon raised his kindling eye. 
And lifts the sparkling cup on high : 

" I drink to one," he said, 
" Whose image never may depart. 
Deep graven on this grateful heart. 

Till memory be dead. 

" To one whose love for me shall last 
When lighter passions long have passed. 
So holy 'tis and true ; 



311 



To one whose love hath longer dwelt. 

More deeply fixed, more keenly felt. 

Than any pledged by you." 

Each guest upstarted at the word, 
And laid a hand upon his sword. 

With fury-flashing eye ; 
And Stanley said, " We crave the name, 
Proud knight, of this most peerless dame. 

Whose love you count so high." 

St. Leon paused as if he would 

Not breathe her name, in careless mood. 

Thus lightly to another ; 
Then bent his noble head, as though 
To give that word the reverence due, 

And gently said, " My Mother ! " 




Youns:. 



HE bell strikes one ; we take no note of time, 

But from its loss. To give it, then, a tcngue 

Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 

I feel the solemn sound. If heard ariglit, 

It is the knell of my departed hours. 

W^here are they ? With the years beyond the flood 

It is the signal that demands despatch ; 

How much is to be done ! 



312 



THE HEART S FINE GOLD. 



Th% Eeas^f s flae 



W. O. goume. 




^) SAW a little girl 

That shivered by my side, 
pirrft And the sparkling snow, with a whiff and a whirl, 
Wove a frosty wreath in her hanging cnrl, 
As she pushed her hair aside. 

I saw her tearful eye, 

That spoke in tender power, 
And the throbbing heart, with a throe and a sigh, 
Were the speaking tongues that assured me why 

She came in that chilly hour. 

I asked what brought her there : 

In accents low and sad. 
She asked for some food, for a crust Avas the fare 
Of mother and babe, 'mid the heart's despair; 

In rags they were thinly clad. 

Her father with the dead 
Had gone to take his rest ; 
He had struggled long with the toil and dread 
Df the life in which the laborers tread. 
And had always done his best. 

Her simple tale I heard. 

Nor did she speak in vain ; 
For the prayerful tone, and the sigh, and the vsord 
Of the pale, thin lips, all my pity stirred, 

As she spoke in tears again. 



THE OLD folks' ROO^I. 313 

Her wants I well supplied 

With such as I could spaic, 
And the poor girl wept in her soul's grateful tide, 
For her heart was full, and she vainly tried 

To utter its promptings there. 

My heart grew rich that day. 

My soul more noble grew. 
For her tears that fell were pearls in the ray 
Of the great love sun that shall chase away 

The night and its gloom-born dew. 

I would that I could spend 

My life in joys like this ; 
I would gather gems, and the gold with them blend 
Of a thousand hearts, till my life should end 

In a heaven of love's pure bliss. 



YU OM Folks* Eoom. 



JxThon. 




HE old man sat by the chimney side ; 
"^ His face was wrinkled and wan ; 
And he leaned both hands on his stout oak caue, 
As if all work were done. 

His coat was of good old-fashioned gray ; 
The pockets were deep and wide, 



314 THE OLD folks' ROOM. 

Where his " specs" and his steel tobacco box 
Lay snugly side by side. 

The old man liked to stir the fire, 
So near him the tongs were kept ; 

Sometimes he mused as he gazed at the coale. 
Sometimes he sat and wept. 

What saw he in the embers there ? 

Ah ! pictures of other years ; 
And now and then they wakened smiles, 

But oftener started tears. 

His good wife sat on th-e other side, 
In a high-back, flag-seat chair; 

I see 'neath the pile of her muslin cap 
The sheen of her silvery hair. 

There's a happy look on her aged face. 

As she busily knits for him. 
And Nillie takes up the stitches dropped, 

For grandmother's eyes are dim. 

Their childi-en come and read the news. 

To pass the time, eacli day ; 
How it stirs the blood in an old man's heart 

To hear of the world away ! 

*Tis a homely scene, — ^^I told you so, — 

But pleasant it is to view ; 
At least I thought it so myself. 

And sketched it down for you. 

Be kind unto the old, my friend ; 

They're worn with this world's strife. 



WRITTEN IX SPRIXG. 315 



Though bravely once perchance they fouyht 
The stern, fierce battle of life. 

They taught our youthful feet to climb 

Upward life's rugged steep ; 
Then let us lead them gently down 

To where the weary sleep. 



Hlegy — Wdttea ivk Spdag. 



IS past : the iron North has spent his rage ; 

Stern Winter now resigns the lengthening, day, 
The stormy bowlings of the winds assuage, 

And warm o'er ether western breezes play. 

Of genial heat and cheerful light the source, 
From summer climes, beneath another sky. 

The sun, returning, wheels his golden course : 
Before his beams all noxious vapors .fly. 

Far to the north grim Winter draws his train. 
To his own clime, to Zembla's frozen shore ; 

Where, throned on ice, he holds eternal reign ; 

Where whirlwinds madden, and where tempests roar 

Loosed from the bands of frost, the verdant ground 
Again puts on her robe of cheerful green, 

A gam puts forth her flowers ; and all around 
Smiling, the cheerful face of Sprmg is seen. 




31G 



THE RIVER PATH. 



Behold ! the trees new deck their withered boughs ^ 
Their ample leaves, the hospitable plane, 

The taper elm, and lofty ash disclose ; 

The blooming hawthorn variegates the scene. 

The lily of the vale, of flowers the queen, 

Puts on the robe she neither sewed nor spun ; 

The birds on ground, or on the branches green, 
Hop to and fro, and glitter in the sun. 

Soon as o'er eastern hills the morning peers, 
From her low nest the tufted lark upsprings ; 

And, cheeiTul singing, up the air she steers ; 

Still high she mounts, still loud and sweet she sings. 

Now is the time for those who wisdom love. 
Who love to walk in virtue's flowery road, 

Along the lovely paths of Spring to rove. 
And follow Nature up to Nature's God. 



%t 



— t-s ^ af-- 



Wliittier. 




O bird-song floated down the hill ; 
The tangled bank below was still ; 

^^^'i^o rustle from the birchen stem, 
' No ripple from the water's hem. 

The dusk of twilight round us grew 
We felt the falling of the dew. 




THE RIVER PATH. 317 



For from us, ere the day was done. 

The wooded hills shut out the sun. 

But on the river's farther side 

We saw the hill tops glorified, 

A tender glow, exceeding fair, 

A dream of ds^y without its glare. 

With us the damp, the chill, the gloom ; 

With them the sunset's rosy bloom ; 

While dark, through willowy vistas seen. 

The river rolled in shade between. 

From out the darkness where we trod 

We gazed upon those hills of God, 

Whose light seemed not of moon or sun ; 

We spake not, but our thought was one. 

We paused, as if from that bright shore 

Beckoned our dear ones gone before ; 

And still our beating hearts to hear 

The voices lost to mortal ear ! 

Sudden our pathway turned from night ; 

The hills swung open to the light ; 

Through their green gates the sunshine showed 

A long slant splendor downward flowed. 

Down glade and glen and bank it rolled ; 

It bridged the shady stream with gold ; 

And, borne on piers of mist, allied 

The shadowy with the sunlit side ! 

" So," prayed we, •' when our feet draw near 

The river, dark with mortal fear. 



;i8 



THE BANQUET. 



"And the night cometh chill with dew, 
O Father ! let thy light break through ! 

" So let the hills of doubt divide, 
So bridge with faith the sunless tide ! 

" So let the eyes that fail on earth 
On thy eternal hills look forth ! 

" And in thy beckoning angels know 
The dear ones whom we loved below." 



Lojidon. 




HERE was a feast that night, 

And colored lamps sent forth their odorous light 

Over gold carving, and the purple fall 

Of tapestry ; and around each stately hall 

Were statues pale, and delicate, and fair, 

As all of Beauty, save her blush, were there 

And, like light clouds, floating around each room 

The censers sent their breathings of perfume ; 

And scented waters mingled with the breath 

Of flowers that died as they rejoiced in death ; 

The tulip, with its globe of rainbow light ; 

The red rose, as it languished with delight ; 

The bride-like hyacinth, drooping ar with shame ; 

And the anemone, Avhose cheek of flame 



TIME, HOPE, AND MEMORY. 311) 

Is golden, as it were the flower of sun, 

In his noon hour, most loved to look upon. 

At first, the pillared halls were still and lone. 

As if some fairy palace, all unknown 

To mortal eye or step. This was not long. 

Wakened the lutes, and rose the sound of song ; 

And the Avide mirrors glittered with the crowd 

Of changing shapes ; the young, the fair, the proudi 

Came thronging in. 



and 

Hood.- 

HEARD a gentle maiden, in the spring. 
Set her sweet sighs to music, and thus sing : 
" Fly through the world, and I will foUow thee 
Only for looks that may turn back on me. 

" Only for roses that your chance may throw, 
Though M'ithcrcd I will wear them on my brew. 
To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain, 
Warmed with such love that they will bloom again. 

" Thy love before thee, I must tread behind. 
Kissing thy footprints, though to me unkind ; 
But trust not ail her fondness though it seem. 
Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream. 

'' Her face is smiling, and her voice is sweet ; 
But smiles betray, and music sings deceit ; 




320 LITTLE ROSE. 



And words speak false, yet, if thy welcome pro-; 
I'll be their echo, and repeat their love. 

" Only if wakened to sad truth at last, 
The bitterness to come, and sweetness past, 
When thou art vexed, then turn again, and see 
Thou hae* loved Hope, but Memory loved thee." 




FJlacJcivood's Jld^ag: 

HE comes with fairy footsteps ; 

Softly their echoes fall ; 
And her shadow plays, like a summer shade, 

Across the garden wall. 
The golden light is dancing bright 

'Mid the mazes of her hair. 
And her fair young locks are waving free 

To the wooing of the air. 

Like a sportive fawn she boundeth 

So gleefully along ; 
As a wild young bird she caroleth 

The burden of a song. 
The summer birds are clustering thick 

Around her dancing feet. 
And on her cheek the clustering breeze 

la breakino; soft and sweet. 



LITTLE KOSE. 321 



The very sunbeams seem to linger 

Above that holy head, 
And the wild flowers at her coming 

Their richest fragrance shed. 
And O, how lovely light and fragrance 

Mingle in the life within ! 
0, how fondly do they nestle 

Round the soul that knows no sin ! 

She comes, the spirit of our childhood, - 

A thing of mortal birth, 
Yet beareth still a breath of heaven, 

To redeem her from the earth. 
She comes in bright-robed innocence, 

Unsoiled by blot or blight, 
And passeth by our wayward path 

A gleam of angel light. 

O, blessed things are children ! 

The gifts of heavenly love ; 
They stand betwixt our heavenly hearts 

And better things above. 
They link us with the spirit world 

By purity and truth, 
And keep our hearts still fresh and yoimg 

With the presence of their youth. 



322 • POESY. 



POeSJe 



O. W. Holmes. 




^y~'p^ HERE breathes no being but has some pretence 
To that fine instinct called poetic sense ; 
The rudest savage roaming through the ■wild, 
The simplest rustic, bending o'er his child. 
The infant listening to the warbling bird. 
The mother smiling at its half-formed ■word ; 
The boy uncaged, who tracks the fields at large.. 
The gu"l turned matron to her babe-like charge ; 
The freeman casting with unpurchased hand 
The vote that shakes the turrets of the land ; 
The slave, who, slumbering on his rusted chain, 
Dreams of the palm-trees on his burning plain ; 
The hot-cheeked reveller, tossing down the wine. 
To join the chorus " Auld lang syne ; " 
The gentle maid, whose azure eye grows dim, 
A\Tiile Heaven is listening to her evening hymn ; 
The jewelled beauty, when her steps dra'W near 
The circling dance and dazzling chandelier; 
E'en trembling age, when spring's renewing air . 
"Waves the thin ringlets of his silvered hair, — 
All, all are glowing with the inward flame, 
"\^^^ose wider halo A\Teathes the poet's name, 
TVTiile, unembalmed, the silent dreamer dies. 
His memory passing with his smiles and sighs. 
If glorious visions, born for all mankind. 
The bright auroras of our twiliglit mind ; 



ADVICE TO A RECKLESS YOLTH. 323 

If fancies, varying as the shapes that lie 
Stained on the windows of the sunset sky ; 
If hopes, that beckon with delusive gleams, 
Till the eye dances in the void of dreams ; 
If passions, following. with the winds that urge 
Earth's wildest wanderer to her farthest verge, — 
If these on all some transient hours bestow 
Of rapture tingling with its hectic glow. 
Then all are poets ; and, if earth had rolled 
Her myriad centuries, and her doom were told, 
Each moaning billow of her shoreless wave 
Would wail its requiem o'er a poet's grave. 



M?ia@ to a ]^eokIes8 Youtk 

-^sn- Jonson. 



E 



/• HAT would I have you do ? I'll tell you, kinsman : 
J: ^'Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive, 
i^bv^iyA That would I have you do ; and not to spend 
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy. 
Or every foolish brain that humors you. 
I would not have you to invade each place, 
Nor thrust yourself on all societies, 
Till men's affections, or your desert, 
Should worthily invite you to your rank. 
He that is so respectless in his courses, 
Oft sells his reputation at cheap market. 




324 GOOD COUNSEL. 



Nor would I you should melt away yourself 

In flashing bravery, lest, while you affect 

To make a blaze of gentry to the world, 

A little puff of scorn extinguish it, 

And you be left like an unsavory snuff. 

Whose property is only to offend. 

I'd ha' you sober, and contain yourself; 

Not that your sail be bigger than your boat ; 

But moderate your expenses now (at first) 

As you may keep the same proportion still. 

Nor stand so much on your gentility, 

Which is an airy and mere borrowed thing, 

From dead men's dust and bones ; and none of yours, 

Except you make, or hold it. 




LY fro the presse, and dwell with sothfastnesse. 
Suffise unto thy good though it be small, 
For horde hath hate, and climbing tikelnesse, 
Prease hath envy, and wele is blent over all. 
Savour no more than thee behove shall, 
Rede well thyselfe that other folk canst rede, 
And trouth thee shall deliver, it is no drede. 



Peine thee not ech crooked to redresse, 
In trust of her that tourneth as a ball ; 



FREEDOM. 325 



Great rest standeth in little businesse, 
Beware also to spume againe a nail, 
Strive not as doth a crockc with a wall, 
Deme thy selfe that deniest others' dede. 
And trouth thee shall deliver, it is no drede. . 

That thee is sent receive in buxomnesse. 
The wrastling of this world asketh a fall, 
Here is no home, here is but wildernesse, 
Forth, pilgrime ! forth, beast, out of thy stall 
Looke up on high, and thanke God of all ! 
Weiv^ thy lusts, and let thy ghost thee lede, 
And trouth thee shall deliver, iv \s no drede. 



John ^a'/'bour. 

FREDOME is a nobill thing ! 
Fredome mayse man to haiii liking ! 
Fredome all solace to man giffis : 
He levys at ese that frely levys ! 
A noble hart may halfF nane ese, 
Na ellys nocht that may him plese, 
Gyff fredome failythe : for fre liking 
Is yearnyt our all othir thing 
Na he, that ay base le\'}'t fre. 
May nocht knaw weill the propyrte, 
The angyr, na the wrechyt dome. 
That is cowplyt to foule thyrldome. 




326 THE MIXISTRY OF AXGFXS. 



Bot gyff he had asavit it, 
Than all perquer he suld it wyt ; 
And suld think fredome mar to pryse 
Than all the gold in warld that is. 




bpenser. 



ND is there care in heaven ? And is there love 
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, 
That may compassion of their evils move ? 
There is • — else much more wretched were the case 
Of men than beasts : but O the exceeding grace 
Of Highest God ! that loves his creatures so. 
And all his workes with mercy doth embrace, 
That blessed angels he sends to and fro, 

To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe ! 

H tw oft do they their silver bowers leave, 
To come to succour us that succour want ! 
How oft do they with golden pinions cleave 
The flitting skyes, like flying pursuivant. 
Against fowle feendes to ayd us mili*:ant! 
They for us fight, they watch, and dewly ward, 
And their bright squadrons round about us plant ; 
And all for love, and nothing for reward ; 

O why should hevenly God to men have such regard ! 




THE PI.EASUItES 01-' HEAVEN. 327 



The FleasMres @f lOIeaTea. 

^en Jonson. 

HERE all the happy souls that ever were, 
Shall meet with gladness in one theatre ; 
And each shall know there one another's face, 
By beatific virtue of the place. 
There shall the brother with the sister walk, 
And sons and daughters with their parents talk 
But all of God : they still shall have to say, 

But make him all in all their theme that day ; 

That happy day that never shall see night ! 

Where he will be all beauty to the sight ; 

Wine or delicious fruits unto the taste ; 

A music in the ears will ever last ; 

Unto the scent, a spicery or balm ; 

And to the touch, a flower, like soft as palm. 

He will all glory, all perfection be, 

God in the Union and the Trinity ! 

That holy, gi'eat, and glorious mystery, 

Will there revealed be in majesty, 

By light and comfort of spiritual grace ; 

The vision of our Saviour face to fa:e. 

In his humanity ! to hear him preach 

The price of our redemption, and to teach. 

Through his inherent righteousness in death, 

The safety of our souls and forfeit breath ! 



328 TO BLOSSOMS. 



What fulness of beatitude is here ! 
What love with mercy mixed doth appear ! 
To style us friends, who were by nature foes ! 
Adopt us heirs by grace, who were of those 
Had lost ourselves ; and prodigally spent 
Oir native portions and possessed rent ! 
Yet have all debts forgiven us ; an advance 
By imputed right to an inheritance 
In his eternal kingdom, where we sit, 
Equal with angels, and co-heirs of it. 



Iiobert Heri'iolc. 




AIE. pledges of a fruitful tree, 
Why do you fall so fast ? 
Your date is not so past, 

But you may stay yet here awhile, 
To blush and gently smile, 
And go at last. 



"W^hat ! were y born to be 

An hour or half's delight. 
And so to bid good night ? 

'Tis pity nature brought ye forth 
Merely to show your worth. 
And lose you quite. 




VERTUE. 329 

But you are lovely leaves, where we 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne'er so brave : 

Ajid after they have shown their pride, 
Like you awhile, they glide 
Into the grave. 



George Herbert. 



WEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
The bridall of the earth and skie : 
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, 

For thou must die. 

Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave 
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 
Thy root is ever in its grave. 

And thou must die. 

Sweet spring, full of sweet dayes and roses, 
A box where sweets compacted lie, 
My musick shows ye have your closes, 
And all must die. 

Onely a sweet and vertuous soul. 
Like season'd timber, never gives ; 
But though the whole world turn to coal, 
Then chiefly lives. 



330 



LOA'E. 



Samuel Sutler. 



« — iS-^sfeAs^er-fi^^ 




)OVE is too great a happiness 
For Avretched mortals to possess ; 
For could it hold inviolate 
Against those cruelties of fate 
Which all felicities below 
By rigid laws are subject to, 
It would become a bliss too high 
For perishing mortality ; 
Translate to earth the joys above ; 
For nothing goes to Heaven but Love. 
All love at first, like generous wine. 
Ferments and frets until 'tis fine ; 
For when 'tis settled on the lee, 
And from the impurer matter free, 
Becomes the richer still the older, 
And proves the pleasanter the colder. 
As at the approach of winter, all 
The leaves of great trees use to fall, 
And leave them naked, to engage 
With storms and tempests when they rage. 
While humbler plants are found to wear 
Their fresh green liveries all the year ; 
So when their glorious season 's gone 
With great men, and hard times come on. 
The greatest calamities oppress 
The greatest still, and spare the less. 



mariner's hymn. '-Vol 



lawQieie's mmik* 



J^rs. Souihey. 




AUNCH thy bark, mariner ! 

Christian, God speed thee ! 
Let loose the rudder-bands — 

Good angels lead thee ! 
Set thy sails warily, 

Tempests will come ; 
Steer thy course steadily ; 

Christian, steer home ! 

Look to the weather-bow, 

Breakers are round thee ; 
Let fall the plummet now, 

Shallows may ground thee. 
Reef in the foresail there ; 

Hold the helm fast ! 
So — let the vessel wear — 

There swept the blast. 

" What of the night, watchman ? 

What of the night ? " 
" Cloudy — all quiet — 

No land yet — all 's right.' 
Be wakeful, be vigilant — 

Danger may be 
At an hour when all seemeth 

Securest to thee. 



332 PEACE. 



How ! gains the leak so fast ? 

Clean out the hold — 
Hoist up thy merchandise, 

Heave out thy gold ; 
There — let the ingots go — 

Now the ship rights ; 
Hurrah ! the harbor 's near — 

Lo ! the red lights ! 

Slacken not sail yet 

At inlet or island ; 
Straight for the beacon steer, 

Straight for the high land. 
Crowd all thy canvas on, 

Cut through the foam — 
Christian ! cast anchor now — 

Heaven is thy home ! 




Q-eorge Herbert. 
e-~-s£..t5«4i*~r'a — » 

WEET Peace, where dost thou dweU? I humbly 
crave, 
Let me once know. 
I sought thee in a secret cave. 
And ask'd, if Peace were there. 
A hollow winde did seem to answer. No ; 
Go seek elsewhere. 



PEACE. 833 

I did ; and going did a rainbow note : 
Surely, thought I, 
This is the lace of Peace's coat : 
I will search out the matter. 
But while I lookt the clouds immediately 
Did break and scatter. 

Then went I to a garden and did spy 
A gallant flower, 
The crown Imperial! : Sure, said I, 
Peace at the root must dwell. 
But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devoure 
What show'd so well. 

At length I met a rev'rend good old man ; 
Whom when for Peace 
I did demand, he thus began : 
There was a Prince of old 
At Salem dwelt, who liv'd with good increase 
Of flock and fold. 

He sweetly liv'd ; yet sweetnesse did not save 
His life from foes. 
But after death out of his grave, 

There sprang twelve stalks of wheat : 
Which many wondring at, got some of those 
To plant and set. 

It prosper' d strangely, and did soon disperse 
Through all the earth : 
For they that taste it do rehearse, 



334 RULE BRITANNIA. 



That vertue lies therein ; 
A secret vertue, bringing peace and mirth 
By flight of sinne. 

Take of this grain, which in my garden grcws, 
And grows for you ; 
Make bread of it : and that repose 
And peace, which ev'ry where 
With 80 much earnestnesse you do pursue 
Is onely there. 



I 



^1 horason. 



A HEN Britain first at Heaven's command, 
^ Arose from out the azure main, 
^^^^^A This was the charter of the land. 

And guardian angels sung the strain : 
Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves ' 
Britons never shall be slaves. 

The nations not so blest as thee, 
Must in their turn to tyrants fall, 

Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free, 
Tlie dread and envy of them all. 
Rule Britannia, dec. 




RULE BRITANNIA. 335 



Still more majestic shalt thou rise, 

More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; 

As the loud blast that tears the skies 
Serves but to root thy native oak. 
Rule Britannia, &c. 

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame ; 

All their attempts to bend thee down 
Will but arouse thy generous flame, 

And work their woe and thy renown. 
Rule Britannia, &c. 

To thee belongs the rural reign ; 

Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; 
All shall be subject to the main, 

And every shore it circles thine. 
Rule Britannia, &;c. 

The muses, still with freedom found. 
Shall to thy happy coast repair ; 

Blest isle, with matchless beauty crowned, 
And manly hearts to guard the fair. 
Rule Britannia, &c. 



^a^^'t^^'^^f-i^i 



336 



THE MAID S LAJXEXT. 




Landor. 

liOVED him not ; and yet, now he is gone, 

I feel I am alone. 
I checked him while he spoke ; yet could he speak, 

Alas ! I would not check. 
For reasons not to love him once I sought, 

And wearied all my thought 
To vex myself and him : I now would give 

My love could he but live 
Who lately lived for me, and when he found 

'Twas vain, in holy ground 
He hid his face amid the shades of death ! 

I waste for him my breath 
Who wasted his for me ; but mine returns, 

And this lone bosom burns 
With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, 

And waking me to weep 
Tears that had melted his soft heart : for years 

Wept he as bitter tears ! 
*' Merciful God ! " 'such was his latest prayer, 

" These may she never share ! " 
Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold 

Than daisies in the mould, 
Where children spell athwart the churchyard gate 

His name and life's brief date. 
Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er ye be, 

And O ! pray, too, for me ! 




' HERE is a land, of every land the pride, 
Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside; 
Where brighter suns dispense serener light, 
\^^ And milder moons emparadlse the night ; 
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, 
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth : 
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores 
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, 
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair. 
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; 
In every clime the magnet of his soul, 
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole : 
For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace, 
The heritage of nature's noblest race. 
There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. 
Where man, creation's tjTtint, casts aside 
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride. 
While in his softened looks benignly blend 
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend ; 
Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife 
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ! 
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, 
Au augel-guard of loves and graces lie ; 
22 



338 ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. 



Around her knees domestic duties meet, 
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. 
Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found ? 
Art thou a man ? — a patriot ? — look around ; 
O, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, 
That land thy country, and that spot thy home ! 




(Barrv Cornwall. 

THOU vast Ocean ! ever-sounding Sea ! 
Thou vast symbol of a drear immensity ! 
Thou thing that windest round the solid world 
Like a huge animal, which, downward hurled 
From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone, 
Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone. 
Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep 
Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep. 
Thou speakest in the east and in the west 
At once, and on thy heavily laden breast 
Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life 
Or motion, yet are moved and meet in strife. 
The earth hath naught of this : no chance or change 
Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare 
Give answer to the tempest- wakened air ; 
But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range 
At will, and wound its bosom as they go : 
Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow : 



.TEANIE MORRISON. 339 



But in their stated rounds the seasons come, 
And pass like visions to their wonted home ; 
And come again, and vanish ; the young Spring 
Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming ; 
And Winter always winds his sullen horn, 
Wher. :he wild Autumn, with a look forlorn. 
Dies in his stormy manhood ; and the skies 
Weep, and flowers sicken, when the summer flies. 
Oh ! wonderful thou art, great element : 
And fearful in thy spleeny humors bent. 
And lovely in repose ; thy summer form 
Is beautiful ; and when thy silver waves 
Make music in earth's dark and winding caves, 
I love to wander on thy pebbled beach, 
Marking the sunlight at the evening hour, 
And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach — 
Eternity — Eternity — and Power. 




YTiTu. Motherwell. 

'VE wandered east, I've wandered west, 

Through mony a weary way ; 
But never, never can forget 

The love of life's young day ! 
The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en, 

May weel be black gin Yule ; 
But blacker fa' awaits the heart 

Where first fond love grows cool. 



340 .TEANIE MORraSON. 



dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, 
The thochts o' bygane years 

Still fling their shadows owre my path, 

And blind my een wi' tears ! 
They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears. 

And sair and sick I pine, 
As memory idly summons up 

The blythe blinks o' langsyne. 

*Twas then we loved ilk ither weel, 

'Twas then we twa did part ; 
Sweet time ! — sad time ! — twa bairns at schule, 

Twa bairns, and but ae heart ! 
'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink, 

To lear ilk ither lear ; 
And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed, 

Remembered ever mair. 

1 wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, 

When sitting on that bink. 
Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in locf, 

What our wee heads could think. 
When baith bent down owre ae braid page. 

Wi' ae bulk on our knee. 
Thy lips were on thy lesson, but 

My lesson was in thee. 

O mind ye how we hung our heads. 
How cheeks brent red wi' shame, 



JEAXIE MORRISON. 341 



Whene'er the schule-weans, laughin', said. 

We cleek'd thegither hame ? 
And mind ye o' the Saturdays — 

The schule then skaled at noon — 
When we ran aff to speel the braes — 

The broomy braes o' June ? 

The throssil whistled in the wood, 

The burn sung to the trees, 
And we with Nature's heart in tune 

Concerted harmonies ; 
And on the knowe aboon the bum, 

For hours thegither sat 
In the silentness o' joy, till baith 

Wi' very gladness grat ! 

Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison, 

Tears trinkled doun your cheek, 
Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nana 

Had ony power to speak ! 
That was a time, a blessed time, 

^\^len hearts were fresh and young, 
When freely gushed all feelings forth, 

Unsyllabled — unsung ! 




342 THE exile's song. 



Tine Exile's SQBf. 

IloheH GilJUlxn. 

H ! why left I my hame ? 

Why did I cross the deep ? 
Oh ! why left I the land 

AVhere my forefathers sleep ? 
I sigh for Scotia's shore, 

And I gaze across the sea, 
But I canna get a blink 

0' my ain countrie ! 

The palm-tree waveth high, 

And fair the myrtle springs ; 
And, to the Indian maid, 

The bulbul sweetly sings. 
But I dinna see the broom 

\Vi' its tassels on the lea, 
Nor hear the lintie's sang 

O' my ain countrie ! 

Oh ! here no Sabbath bell 

Awakes the Sabbath morn, 
Nor song of reapers heard 

Amang the yellow com : 
For the tjTrant's voice is here, 

And the wail o' slaverie ; 
But the sun of freedom shines 

In my ain countrie 1 



TEN YEARS AGO. 343 



There's a hope for every woe, 

And a balm for every pain, 
But the first joys o' our heart 

Come never back again. 
There's a track upoji the deep, 

And a path across the sea ; 
But the weary ne'er return 

To their ain countrie 1 

— ^OS-^^E^-O©-^ — 

Tea Years A§@, 

_-^! --inb Jilei>xnder Wat U 

— -» »<? ' :<S); < ? '^ — 

TOO am changed — I scarce know why — 

Can feel each flagging pulse decay ; 
And youth and health, and visions high, 

Melt like a wreath of snow away ; 
Time cannot sure have wrought the ill ; 

Though worn in this world's sickening strife, 
In soul and form, I linger still 

In the first summer month of life ; 
Yet journey on my path below, 
Oh ! how unlike — ten years ago ! 

But look not thus : I would not give 

The wreck of hopes that thou must share, 

Tc bid those joyous hours revive. 
When all around me seemed so fair. 




344 WE MET. 

We've wandered on in sunny weather, 

When Avinds were low, and flowers in bloom, 

Vnd hand in hand have kept together. 
And still will keep, 'mid storm and gloom ; 

Endeared hy ties we could not know 

When life was young — ten years ago ! 

Has Fortune frowned ? Her frowns were vain, 

For hearts like ours she could not chiU ; 
Have friends proved false ? Their love might wane. 

But ours grew fonder, firmer still. 
Twin barks on this world's changing wave, 

Steadfast in calms, in tempests tried ; 
In concert still our fate we'll brave. 

Together cleave life's fitful tide ; 
Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow. 
Youth's first wild dreams — ten years ago 1 







Thomas Haynes ^ayly. 

^ E met — 'twas in a crowd — and I thought he 

would shun me ; 
He came — I could not breathe, for his eye was 

upon me ; 
He spoke — his words were cold, and his smile 

was unaltered ; 
I knew how much he felt, for his deep-toned 

voice falter'd. 



FROM ''THE LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME. 



345 



I wore my bridal robe, and I rivall'd its whiteness ; 
Bright gems were in my hair, how I hated their brightness ! 
He called me by my name, as the bride of another — 
Oh, thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my mother ! 

And once again we met, and a fair giri was near him : 
He smiled, and whispered low — as I once used to hear him. 
She leant upon his arm — once 'twas mine, and mine only — 
I wept, for I deserved to feel wretched and lonely. 
And she will be his bride ! at the altar he'll give her 
The love that was too pure for a heartless deceiver. 
The world may think me gay, for my feelings I smother — 
Oh, thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my mother ! 



JM^aoaiday. 




HEN out spake brave Horatius, 

The captain of the gate : 
" To every man upon this earth 

Death cometh soon or late. 
And how can man die better 

Than facing fearful odds. 
For the ashes of his fathers, 

And the temples of his gods ; - 

*' And for the tender mother 
Who dandled him to rest, 



346 FROM "the lays of ancient ROME." 

And for the wife who nurses 

His baby at her breast , 
And for the holy maidens 

Who feed the eternal flame, 
To save them from false Sextus, 

That wrought the deed of shame ? 

" Hew doAvn the bridge, Sir Consul, 
With all the speed ye may ; 

I, with two more to help me, 
Will hold the foe in play. 

In yon straight path a thousand- 
May well be stopped by three. 

Now, who will stand on either hand, 
And keep the bridge with me ? " 

Then out spake Spurius Lartius ; 

A Kamnian proud was he : 
" Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 

And keep the bridge with thee." 
And out spake strong Herminius ; 

Of Titian blood was he : 
" I will abide on thy left side. 

And keep the bridge with thee." 

" Horsitius," quoth the Consul, 

" As thou say'st, so let it be." 
And straight against that great array 

Forth went the dauntless three. 
For Romans in Rome's quarrel 

Spared neither land nor gold. 
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 

In the brave days of old. 



CASTLES IN THE AIR. 347 

Then none was for a party ; 

Then all were for the state ; 
Then the great men helped the poor, 

And the poor man loved the great ; 
Then lands were fairly portioned ; 

Then spoils were fairly sold ; 
The Romans were like brothers 

In the brave days of old. 

Now Roman is to Roman 

More hateful than a foe, 
And the tribunes beard the high, 

And the fathers grind the low. 
As we wax hot in faction. 

In battle we wax cold : 
Wherefore men fight not as they fought 

In the brave days of old. 




James ^allantine. 

HE bonnie, bonnie bairn, sits pokin' in the ase, 
Glowerin' in the fire wi' his wee round face ; 
Laughin' at the fuffin' lowe — what sees he there ? 
Ha ! the young dreamer's biggin' castles in the air ' 

His wee chubby face, an' his tousy curly pow, 
Are laughin' an' noddin' to the dancin' lowe, 



348 CASTLES IN THE AIR. 

He'll brown his rosy cheeks, and singe his sunny hair, 
Glow'rin' at the imps wi' their castles in the air. 

He sees muckle castles towerin' to the moon, 
He sees little sodgers pu'in' them a' doun ; 
Warlds whomlin' up an' doun, bleezin' wi' a flare, 
Losh ! how he loups, as they glimmer in the air ! 

For a' sae sage he looks, what can the laddie ken ? 
He's thinkin' upon naething, like mony mighty men, 
A wee thing mak's us think, a sma' thing mak's us stare, 
There are mair folks than him biggin' castles in the air. 

Sic a night in winter may weel mak him cauld ; 
His chin upon his buffy hand will soon mak him auld ; 
His brow is brent sae braid, so pray that Daddy Care 
Wad let the wean alane wi' his castles in the air. 

He'll glower at the fire, and he'll keek at the light ; 
But mony sparkling stars are swallow'd up by Night ; 
Aulder een than his are glamour'd by a glare, 
Hearts are broken — heads are turned — wi' castles in 
the air. 



^ ^ > > r/r/^^^Vs-<s- 



THE MEN OF OLD. 349 



if. J£. Jfilnss. 




KNOW not that the men of old 

Were better than men now, 
Of heart more kind, of hand more bold. 

Of more ingenuous brow : 
I heed not those who pine for force 

A ghost of time to raise, 
As if they thus could check the course 

Of these appointed days. 



Still is it true, and over-true, 

That I delight to close 
This book of life self-wise and new> 

And let my thoughts repose 
On all that humble happiness 

The world has since foregone — 
The daylight of contentedness 

That on those faces shone ! 

With rights, though not too closely scanned, 

Enjoyed, as far as known — 
With will, by no reverse unmanned — 

With pulse of even tone — 
They from to-day and from to-night 

Expected nothing more 
Than yesterday and yesternight 

Had proffered them before. 



350 



CI-EAR THE WAY. 



A man's best things are nearest him, 

Lie close about his feet, 
It is the distant and the dim 

That we are sick to greet : 
For flowers that grow our hands beneath 

We struggle and aspire — 
Our hearts must die, except they breathe 

The air of fresh desire. 



Charles JVLcbohay. 




EN of thought ! be up, and stirring 

Night and day : 
Sow and seed — withdraw the curtain — 

Clear the way ! 
Men of action, aid and cheer them. 

As ye may ! 
There's a fount about to stream. 
There's a light about to beam. 
There's a warmth about to glow. 
There's a flower about to blow; 
There's a midnight blackness changing 

Into gray; 
Men of thought and men of action, 
Clear the wayl 



CLEAR THE WAy. 351 



Once the welcome light has broken, 

Who shall say 
What the unimagined glories 

Of the day ? 
Wliat the evil that shall perish 

In its ray ? 
Aid the dawning, tongue and pen ; 
Aid it, hopes of honest men ; 
Aid it, paper — aid it, type — 
Aid it, for the hour is ripe, 
And our earnest must not slacken 

Into play. 
Men of thought and men of action, 

Clear the way ! 

Lo ! a cloud 's about to vanish 

From the day ; 
Ajid a brazen wrong to crumble 

Into clay. 
Lo! the right's about to conquer; 

Clear the way ! 
With the Right shall many more 
Enter smiling at the door ; 
With the giant Wrong shall fall 
Many others, great and small. 
That for ages long have held us 

For their prey. 
Men of thought and men of action, 

Clear the way ! 




3o2 FROM "babe CriRISTABEL." 



Gerald JVCassey. 

ND thou hast stolen a jewel, Death ! 
Shall light thy dark up like a star, 
A beacon kindling from afar 
Our light of love, and fainting faith. 

Through tears it gleams perpetually, 

And glitters through the thickest glooms, 
Till the eternal morning comes 

To light us o'er the jasper sea. 

With our best branch in tenderest leaf. 

We've strewn the way our Lord doth come ; 
And, ready for the harvest home. 

His reapers bind our ripest sheaf. 

Our beautiful bird of light hath fled : 
Awhile she sat with folded wings — 
Sang round us a few hoverings — 

Then straightway into glory sped. 

And white-winged angels nurture her ; 

With heaven's white radiance robed and crowned, 

And all love's purple glory round, 
She summers on the hills of myrrh. 

Through childhood's morning-land, serene 
She walked betwixt us twain, like love ; 
While, in a robe of light above, 

Her better angel walked unseen, — 



FROM "babe christabel." 353 

Till life's highway broke bleak and wild ; 
Then, lest her starry garments trail 
In mire, heart bleed, and courage fail, 

The angel's arms caught up the child. 

Her wave of life hath backward rolled 
To the great ocean ; on whose shore 
We wander up and down, to store 

Some treasures of the times of old : — 

And aye we seek and hunger on 

For precious pearls and relics rare, 

Strewn on the sands for us to wear 
At heart for love of her that's gone. 

O weep no more ! there yet is balm 
In Gilead ! Love doth ever shed 
Rich healing where it nestles — spread 

O'er desert pillows some green palm ! 

Strange glory streams through life's wild rents, 
And through the open door of death 
We see the heaven that beckoneth 

To the beloved going hence. 

God's icl or fills the hearts that bleed ; 

The best fruit loads the broken bough ; 

And in the wounds our sufferings plough, 
Immortal love sows sovereign seed. 
23 



354 THE GRANDMOTHER. 








Viator Hugo. 

OTHER of our own dear mother, ^ood old 
I Tsj grandam, wake and smile ! 
^ \^ Commonly your lips keep moving when you're 
sleeping all the while ; 
For between your prayer and slumber scarce 

the difference is known ; 
But to-night you're like the image of Madonna 
cut in stone, 
With your lips without a motion or a breath — a single 
one. 

Why more heavily than usual dost thou bend thy old gray 

brow ? 
What is it we've done to grieve thee that thou'lt not 

caress us now ? 
Grandam, see, the lamp is paling, and the fire burns fast 

away; 
Speak to us, or fire and lamp-light will not any Icaiger 

stay, 
And thy two poor little children, we shall die as well as 

they. 

Ah ! when thou shalt wake and find us near the lamp 

that's ceased to burn. 
Dead, and when thou speakest to us, deaf and silent in 

our tiurn — 



THE GRANDMOTHER. 



Then how great will be thy sorrow ! then thou'lt cry for 

us in vain. 
Call upon thy saint and patron for a long, long time, and 

fain, 
And a long, long time embrace us ere we come to life 

again ! 

Only feel how warm our hands are ; wake and place thy 
hands in ours ; 

Wake, and sing us some old ballad of the wandering 
troubadours. 

Tell us of those knights whom fairies used to help to 
love and fame ; 

Knights who brought, instead of posies, spoils and tro- 
phies to their dame. 

And whose war-cry in the battle was a lady's gentle name. 

TeU us what's the sacred token wicked shapes and sprites 

to scare ! 
And of Lucifer — who was it saw him flying through the 

air? 
What's the gem that's on the forehead of the King of 

Gnomes displayed ? 
Does Archbishop Turpin's psalter, or Roland's enormous 

blade, 
Daunt the great black King of Evil ? — say, which makes 

him most afraid ? 

Oi' thy large old Bible reach us, with its pictures bright 

and blue. 
Heaven all gold, and saints a-kneeling, and the infant 

Jesus too. 



3oG THE GKAXDMOTIIER. 

In the manger with the oxen; and the kings: and soft 

and slow 
O'er the middle of the pages guide our fingers as we go, 
Reading some of that good Latin, speaks to God from «8, 

you know. 

Grandam, see, the light is failing — failing ; and upon the 

hearth, 
A.nd around the blackened ingle, leaps the shadow in its 

mirth. 
Ha ! perhaps the sprites are coming ! yes, they'll soon 

be at the door ; 
Wake, oh, wake ! and if you're praying, dearest grandam, 

pray no more ; 
Sure, you do not wish to fright us, you who cheered us 

aye before ? 

But thine arms are colder, colder; and thine eyes so 

closM are: 
*Twas but lately you did tell us of another world afar ; 
And of heaven you were discoursing, and the grave where 

people lie — 
Told us life was short and fleeting, and of death — that 

aU must die. 
^STiat is death ? dear grandam, tell us what it is. — You 

don't reply ! 

Long time did those slender voices moan and murmur all 
alone ; 

Still the aged dame awaked not, though the gulden morn- 
ing shone. 



THE SKELETON IX ARJIOR. 



Soon was heard the dismal tolling of the solemn funeral 

beU; 
Mournfully the air resounded ; and, as silent evening fell, 
One who passed that door half-opened those two little 

ones espied, 
With the holy book before them, kneeling at the lone 

bedside. 



I-ongfellou}. 




PEAK ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 

Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms, 

Why dost thou haunt me ? " 

Then from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
As when the northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And like the water's flow 
Under December's snow. 
Came a duU voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber • 



358 Tin: SKELI-.TON IX AR5IOR. 

" I was a Viking old ! 

My deeds, though manifold, 

No Skald in song has told, 

No Saga taught thee ! 
Take heed that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse ! 

For this I sought thee. 

" Far in the Northern land. 
By the wide Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand, 

Tamed the ger-falcon ; 
And, with my skates fast bound, 
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on.. 

*' Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked 1 the grisly bear, 
WhUe from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow ; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf's Imrk, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

" But when I older grew, . 
Joining a corsair's crew. 
O'er the dark sea I flew 
With the marauders. 



THE SKELETON IN AEMOR. 



359 



Wild was the life we led ; 
Mauy the souls that sped, 
Mauy the hearts that bled^ 
By our stern orders. 

" Mauj' a wassail bout 
"Wore the long winter out ; 
Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing, 
As we the Bersek's tale 
Measured in cups of ale, 
Draining the oaken pail 

Filled to o'erflowiug. 

" Once, as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormj^ sea. 
Soft ej'es did gaze on me, 

Bui'uing, yet tender ; 
And,' as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway .pine. 
On that dark heart of mine 
Fell theli' soft splendor. 

" I wooed the blue-e^'ed maid, 
Yielding, j^et half afraid. 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast. 
Like bu'ds within their nest 

B}' the hawk frightened. 



300 THE SKELETON IX ARMOR. 

" Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 

Chanting his glory ; 
"When of oil Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrels stand 

To hear my story. 

" While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed 
And, as the wind-gusts waft 

The sea-foam brightly, 
So the loud laugh of scorn, 
Out of those lips unshorn. 
From the deep drinking-horn 

Blew the foam lightly. 

" She was a Prince's child, 

I but a Viking wild, 

And though she blushed and smiled, 

I was discarded 1 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew's flight ? 
Why did tl.ey leave that night 

Her nest unguarded ? 

" Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me — 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen 1 — 



THE SKELETON IX AUMOK. 



361 



When, on the white sea-strand, 
Waving his armed hand. 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 
With twenty horsemen. 

** Then launched they to the blast ; 
Bent like a reed each mast ; 
Yet we were gaining fast, 

When the wind failed us ; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty skaw, 
So that our foe we saw 

Laugh as he hailed us. 

" And as, to catch the gale, 
Round veered the flapping sail, 
Death was the helmsman's hail — 

Death without quarter ! 
Mid-ships, with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water ! 

" As with his wings aslant. 
Sails the fierce cormorant. 
Seeking some rocky haunt, 

With his prey laden, 
So toward the open main. 
Beating to sea again. 
Through the wild hurricane 

Bore I the maiden. 



3G2 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 



" Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o'er, 
Cloud-like we saw the shore 

Stretching to leeward ; 
There, for my lady's bower, 
Built I the lofty tower 
Which, to this very hour. 

Stands looking seaward. 

" There lived we many years ; 
Time dried the maiden's tears ; 
She had forgot her fears. 

She was a mother. 
Death closed her mild blue eyes; 
Under that tower she lies ; 
Ne'er shaU the sun arise 

On such another ! 

" StiU grew my bosom then. 
StiU as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to me were men — 

The sunlight hateful ! 
In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear, 
Fell I upon my spear, 

O, death was grateful ! 

" Thus, seamed with many scars, 
Bursting its prison bars, 
Up to its native stars 
My sovd ascended 1 



THE PRESENT CRISIS. 3G3 

There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the Avarrior's soul, 
Skoal I to the Northland ! skoal ! " 
Thus the tale ended. 

— sm:^ — 




James Iiusseil Lovjell. 



HEN a deed is done for Freedom, through the 
^ broad earth's aching breast 

Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on 
1^5^ from east to west, 

And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the 

soul within him climb 
To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy 
sublime 
Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny stem of 
Time. 

Through the walls of hut and palace shoots the instanta- 
neous throe. 

When the travail of the Ages wrings earth's systems to 
and fro ; 

At the birth of each new Era, with a recognizing start, 

Nation wildly looks at nation, standing with mute lips 
apart, 

^d glad Truth's yet mightier man-child leaps beneath 
the Future's heart. 



3G4 TPIE niESENT CRISIS. 



So the Evil's triumph sendeth, with a terror and a 

chill, 
Undrr continent to continent, the sense of coining ill, 
And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels his sympathies 

with God 
In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be drunk up by 

the sod, 
Till a corpse crawls round unburied, delving in the nobler 

clod! 

For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears 

along, 
Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of right 

or wrong ; 
Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's vast 

frame 
Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy 

or shame ; — 
In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal 

claim. 

Once to every man and nation comes the moment to 

decide. 
In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil 

side; 
Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the 

bloom or blight, 
Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon 

the right, — 
And the choice goes by for ever 'twixt that darkness and 

that light ! 



TIIK rUKSEXT CRISIS. 305 



Hast thou chosen, O my people, on whose party thou 

shalt stand, 
Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust 

against our land ? 
Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet 'tis Truth alone is 

strong ; 
And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her 

throng 
Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all 

wrong. 

Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments 

see, 

That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Ob- 
livion's sea ; 

Not an ear in court or market for the low foreboding cry 

Of those Crises, God's stern winnowers, from whose feet 
earth's chaff must fly ; 

Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath 
passed by. 

Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but 

record 
One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and 

the Word ; 
Truth for ever on the scaflbld. Wrong for ever on the 

throne, — 
Yet that scaflbld sways the future, and, behind the dim 

unknown, 
Siaudeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above 

his own. 



3G(j THE PRESENT CKISIS. 

We see dimly in the Present what is small and what is 
great, 

Slow of faith how weak an arm may turn the iron helm 
of fate ; 

But the soul is still oracular : amid thQ market's din 

List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave 
within, — ■ 

•' They enslave their children's children who make com- 
promise with sin." 

Slavery, the earthborn Cyclops, fellest of the giant 
brood. 

Sons of brutish Force and Darkness, who have drenched 
the earth with blood. 

Famished in his self-made desert, blinded by our purer 
day, 

Gropes in yet unblasted regions for his miserable 
prey : — 

Shall we guide his gory fingers where our helpless chil- 
dren play ? 

Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her 

wretched crust, 
Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 'tis prosperous to 

be just ; 
Then il is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands 

aside, 
Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified. 
And the multitude make virtue of the faith they had 

denied 



THE PRESENT CRISIS. 367 

Count me o'er Earth's chosen heroes, — they were souls 

that stood alone 
While the men they agonized for hurled the conf umplious 

stone ; — 
Stood serene and down the future saw the golden beam 

incline 
To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith 

divine, 
By one man's plain truth to manhood and to God's 

supreme design. 

By the light of burning heretics Christ's bleeding feet I 
track, 

Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns 
not back. 

And these mounts of anguish number how each genera- 
tion learned 

One new word of that grand Credo which in prophet- 
hearts hath burned 

Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to 
heaven upturned. 

For humanity sweeps onward : where to-day the martjT 
stands, 

On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his 
hands ; 

Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling 
fagots burn, 

While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe re- 
turn 

To glean up the scattered ashes into Histor}''s golden urn. 



3G8 THE PRESENT CRISIS. 

Tis as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves 

Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves ; 

Worshippers of light ancestral make the present light 
a crime ; — 

Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men 
behind their time ? 

Turn those tracks toward Past or Future, that make Ply- 
mouth rbck sublime ? 

They were men of present valor, stalwart old icono- 
clasts, 

Unconvinced by ax or gibbet that all virtue was the 
Past's ; 

But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that hath 
made us free, 

Hoarding it in mouldy parchments, while our tender spirits 
flee 

The rude grasp of that great Impulse which drove them 
across the sea. 

They have rights who dare maintain them ; we are traitors 
to our sires. 

Smothering in their holy ashes Freedom's new-lit altar 
fires ; 

Shall we make their creed our jailer ? Shall we, in qui 
haste to slay, 

From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral 
lamps away 

'J'o light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to- 
day ? 



K SONG OF THE STARS. ' 369 

New occasions teach new duties ; Time makes ancienl 
good uncouth ; 

They must upward still, and onward, who would kaep 
abreast of Truth ; 

IjO, before us gleam her camp-fires ! we ourselves must 
Pilgrims be, 

Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the des- 
perate winter sea. 

Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood- 
rusted key. 



Frvant. 



HEN the radiant morn of creation broke, 
i'And the world in the smile of God awoke, 
L And the empty realms of darkness and death 
Were moved through their depths by his mighty 

breath. 
And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame, 
From the void abyss by myriads came, — 
In the joy of youth as they darted away. 
Through the widening wastes of space to play, 
Their silver vo'.ce in chorus rang, 
And this was the song the bright ones sang : 

"Away, away, through the wide, wide sky. 
The fair, blue fields that before us lie, — 
24 




"0 SOXG OF THE STARS. 



Eacii sun, with, the worlds that round him roll, 
Each planet, poised on her turning pole ; 
With her isles of green, and her clouds of white, 
And her waters that lie like fluid light. 

*' For the source of glory uncovers his face. 
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space ; 
And we drink as we go the luminous tides 
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides : 
Lo ! yonder the living splendors play ; 
Away, on our joyous path, away ! 

" Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar, 
In the infinite azure, star after star. 
How they brighten and bloom' as they swiftly pass! 
How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass ! 
And the path of the gentle winds is seen, 
Where the small waves dance, and the young woods 
lean. 

"And see, where the brighter day-beams pour, 
How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower; 
And the morn and eve, with their pomp of hues. 
Shift o'er the bright planets, and shed their dews ; 
And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground. 
With her shadowy cone the night goes round ! 

" Away, away ! in our blossoming bowers. 
In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours. 
In the seas and fountains that shine with mom, 
3ee, Love is brooding, and Life is born ; 
And breathing myriads are breaking from night, 
1.'o rejoice, like us, in motion and light." 



BIXGEX ON THE RHINE. 871 

Glide on in yoiir beauty, ye youthful spheres, 

To weave the dance that measures the years ! 

Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent 

To the furthest wall of the firmament, — 

The boundless, visible smile of Him, 

To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim ! 

— H> 3 > ME4 - ^ <K — 




J^rs. E. Q. JToHon. 

SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 
There was lack of woman's nursing, there was 

dearth of woman's tears ; 
But a comrade stood beside him, while his life- 
blood ebbed away. 
And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he 
might say. 
The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, 
And he said, " I never more shall see my own, my native 

land : 
Take a message and a token to some distant friends of 

mine; 
For I was born at Bingen, — at Bingen on the Rhine. 

" Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and 
crowd around, 

To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard- 
ground, 



372 BINGEN OX THE RHINE. 

rhat we fought the battle bravely, and, when the day was 

done, 
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun; 

And 'mid the dead and dying were some grown old in 

wars, — 
The death- wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many 

scars ; 
And some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn 

decline, — 
And one had come from Bingen, — fair Bingen on the 

Rhine. 

" Tell my mother that her other son shall comfort her old 

age; 
For I was still a truant bird, that thought his home a 

cage; 
For my father was a soldier, and even as a cltild 
My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce 

and wild ; 
And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, 
I let them take whate'er they would, — but kept my 

father's sword ; 
And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used 

to shine. 
On the cottage wall at Bingen, — calm Bingen on the 

Rhine. 

" Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob Avith droop- 
ing head. 

When the troops come marching home again, with glad 
and gallant tread. 



BIXGEN OX THE RHINE. 373 

But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast 

eye, 
For her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die ; 
And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name, 
To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame. 
And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword 

and mine), 
For the honor of old Bingen, — dear Bingen on the 

Rhine. 

" There's another — not a sister ; in the happy days 

gone by 
You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in 

her eye ; * 
Too innocent for coquetry, — too fond for idle scorning, — 
0, friend ! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes 

heaviest mourning ! 
Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be 

risen, 
My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison) — 
I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight 

shine 
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, — sweet Bingen on the 

Rhine. 

" I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, — I heard, or seemed 

to hear. 
The Gern in songs we used to sing in chorus sweet and 

clear ; 
And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill. 
The echoing chorus sounded through the evening calm and 

still; 



374: BIXGEX ox THE KIIINE. 

And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed with 

friendly talk, 
Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered 

walk ! 
And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine, — 
But we meet no more at Bingen, — loved Bingen on tht 

Rhine." 

His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, — his grasp 

was childish weak, — 
His eyes put on a dying look, — he sighed, and ceased 

to speak ; 
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had 

fled, — 
The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land is dead ! 
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked 

down 
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses 

strewn ; 
Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed 

to shine. 
As it shone on distant Bingen, — fair Bingen on the 

Ehine. 




Jean, Ing'elovj. 
From " Songs of Seven." 

LEANED out of window, I smelt the white clover, 
Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate ; 
" Now if there be footsteps, he comes, my one 
lover — 
Hush, nightingale, hush ! O, sweet nightin- 
gale, wait 

Till I listen and hear 
If a step draweth near ; 
For my love, he is late ! 



" The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, 

A cluster of stars bangs like fruit on the tree : 
The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer ; — 
To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see ? 
Let the star-clusters glow, 
Let the sweet waters flow. 
And cross quickly to me. 

" You night-moths that hover where honey brims over 

From sycamore blossoms, or settle, or sleep ; 
You glow-worms shine out, and the pathway discover 
To him that comes darkling along the rough steep 
Ah, my sailor, make haste. 
For the time runs to waste. 
And my love Heth deep — 



'6 EVELYN HOPE. 



" Too deep for swift telling ; and yet, my one lover, 

I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night." 
By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover, 
And all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight. 
But I'll love him more, more 
Than e'er wife loved before, 
Be the days dark or bright. 




^rovsnin^. 

EAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead ! 

Sit and watch by her side an hour. 
That is her book-shelf, this her bed ; 

She plucked that piece of geranium-flowei, 
Beginning to die, too, in the glass. 

Little has yet been changed, I think ; 
The shutters are shut — no light may pass. 

Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. 

Sixteen years old when she died ! 

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name — 
It was not her time to love ; beside, 

Her life had many a hope and aim. 
Duties enough and little cares ; 

And noAv was quiet, now astir — 
TUl God's hand beckoned unawares. 

And the sweet white brow is all of her. 



EVELYX HOPK. 



Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope ? 

What ! your soul was pure and true ; 
The good stars met in your horoscope. 

Made you of spirit, fire, and dew ; 
And just because I was thrice as old, 

And our paths in the world diverged so wide, 
Each was naught to each, must I be told ? 

We were fellow-mortals — naught beside? 

No, indeed ! for God above 

Is great to grant, as mighty to make. 
And creates the love to reward the love; 

I claim you still, for my own love's sake ! 
Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet. 

Through worlds I shall traverse not a few ; 
Much is to learn, and much to forget. 

Ere the time be come for taking you. 

But the time will come — at last it will — 

When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, 
In the lower earth — in the years long still — 

That body and soul so pure and gay ; 
Why your hair was amber I shall divine. 

And your mouth of your own geranium's red — 
And what you would do with me, in fine, 

In the new life come in the old one's stead. 

I have lived, I shall say, so much since then. 

Given up myself so many times. 
Gained me the gains of various men. 

Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes ; 



GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 



Yet one thing — one — in my soul's full scope, 
Either I missed or itself missed me — 

And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope I 
"What is the issue ? let us see I 

I loved you, Evelyn, aU the while ; 

My heart seemed full as it could hold — 
There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, 

And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. 
So, hush ! I will give you this leaf to keep ; 

See, I shut it inside the sweet, cold hand. 
There, that is our secret ! go to sleep : 

You wUl wake, and remember, and understand. 



'^-X--6=<ftyeh-»^ 



Jean Ing-eloiv. 
From " Songs of Seven. ' 




bear, to nurse, to rear. 

To watch, and then to lose : 
To see my bright ones disappear, 

Drawn up like morning dews. 
To bear, to nurse, to rear, 

To watch, and then to lose : 
This have I done when God drew neai 

Among his own to choose. 



GIVING IX MARRIAGE. 



To hear, to heed, to wed. 

And with thy lord depart. 
In tears that he, as soon as shed. 

Will let no longer smart. 
To hear, to heed, to wed, 

This while thou didst, I smUed ; 
For now it was not God who said, 

'* Mother, give me thy child." 

O fond, O fool and blind. 

To God I gave with tears ; 
But when a man like grace would find. 

My soul put by her fears : 
O fond, fool and blind : 

God guards in happier spheres ; 
That man will guard where he did bind 

Is hope for unknown years. 

To hear, to heed, to wed. 

Fair lot that maidens choose ; 
Thy mother's tenderest words are said. 

Thy face no more she views. 
Thy mother's lot, my dear. 

She doth it naught accuse : 
Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear, 

To love — and then to lose. 



cPvZ) 'r Hj'CL>'» - 



380 



THE CIlILDltEN S HOUR. 



Longfellow. 



«-^a*G*AKsy'S^^ 




ETWEEN tlie dark and the daylight 
When the night is beginning to lower, 

Comes a pause in the day's occupations, 
That is known as the children's hour. 

I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of little feet ; 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 



From my study I see in the lamplight, 
Descending the broad hall stair, 

Grave Alice, and laughing AUegra, 
And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper and then a silence. 
Yet I know by their merry eyes 

They are plotting and planning together 
To take me by surprise. 

A sudden rush from the stairway ; 

A sudden raid from the hall ; 
By three doors left unguarded 

They enter my castle-wall. 



THE CIIILDRKN's HOUR. 381 

f hey climb up into my turret, 

O'er the arms and back of my chair ; 

If I try to escape, they surround me ; 
They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 

Their arms about me entwine, 
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen, 

In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine. 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, 
Because you have scaled the wall, 

Such an old mustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all ? 

I have you fast in my fortress. 

And will not let you depart. 
But put you into the dungeon. 

In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever — 

Yes, forever and a day ; 
TiU the walls shall crumble to ruiuj 

And moulder in dust away. 




382 YOUTH, THAT PURSUEST. 




I^- JVr. J/[ilnes. 

OUTH, that pursuest, with such eager pace, 

Thy even way, 
Thou pantest on to win a mournful race : 

Then stay ! stay ! 

Pause and luxuriate on thy sunny plain : 

Loiter — enjoy ; 
Once past, thou never wilt come back again, 

A second boy. 



The hills of manhood wear a noble face 

When seen from far ; 
The mist of light from which they take their grace, 

Hides what they are. 

The dark and weary path those cliffs between 

Thou canst not know ; 
A.nd how it leads to regions never green, 

Dead fields of snow. 

Pause while thou may'st, nor deem that fate thy gain, 

"Which, all too fast, 
WUl drive thee forth from this delicious plain, 

A man at last. 



AMOXG THE BEAUTIFUL PICTURES. 383 




JRiae Gary. 



MONG the beautiful pictures 

That hang on Memory's wall, 
Is one of a dim old forest, 

That seemeth best of all ; 
Not for its gnarled oaks olden, 

Dark with the mistletoe ; 
Not for the violets golden 

That sprinkle the vale below ; 

Not for the milk-white lilies 

That lean from the fragrant ledge. 
Coquetting all day with the sunbeams. 

And stealing their golden edge ; 
Not for the vines on the upland, 

Where the bright red berries rest ; 
Nor the pinks, nor the pale, sweet cowslip. 

It seemeth to me the best. 

I once had a little brother 

With eyes that were dark and deep ; 
In the lap of that old dim forest 

He lieth in peace asleep ; 
Light as the down of the thistle. 

Free as the winds that blow. 
We roved there the beautiful summers, 

The summers of long ago ; 



3S4 EACH AXD ALL. 



But his feet on the hills grew weary, 
And one of the autumn eves 

I made for my little brother 
A bed of the yellow leaves. 

Sweetly his pale arms folded 

My neck in a meek embrace, 
As the light of immortal beauty 

Silently covered his face ; 
And when the arrows of sunset 

Lodged in the tree-tops bright, 
He fell, in his saint-like beauty. 

Asleep by the gates of light. 
Therefore of all the pictures 

That hang on Memory's wall, 
The one of the dim old forest 

Seemeth the best of all. 



Emerson. 



•--X.^HCAJ^^-*'^ 




lITTLE thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown 

Of thee from the hill-top looking down ; 

The heifer that lows in the upland farm, 

Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm ; 

The sexton, tolling his bell at noon. 

Deems not that great Napoleon 

Stops his horse, and lists with delight. 

Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height. 



EACH AND ALL. 385 



Nor knowest thou what argument 
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent. 
All are needed by each one — 
Nothing is fair or good alone. 

I thought the sparrow's note from heaven. 
Singing at dawn on the alder-bough ; 
I brought him home, in his nest, at even ; 
He sings the song, but it pleases not now; 
For I did not bring home the river and sky ; 
He sang to my ear — they sang to my eye. 

The delicate shells lay on the shore ; 

The bubbles of the latest wave 

Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, 

And the bellowing of the savage sea 

Greeted their safe escape to me. 

I wiped away the weeds and foam — 

I fetched my sea-born treasures home ; 

But the poor, unsightly, noisome things 

Had left their beauty on the shore, 

With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar. 

The lover watched his graceful maid, 
As 'mid the virgin train she strayed ; 
Nor knew her beauty's best attire 
Was woven still by the snow-white choir. 
At last she came to his hermitage, 
Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage ; 
The gay enchantment was undone — 
A gsntle wife, but fairy none- 
25 



3'8G THE PKESENT. 



Then I said : " I covet truth ; 

Beauty is unripe childRood's cheat ; 

I leave it behind with the games of youth.' 

As I spoke, beneath my feet 

The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, 

Running over the club -moss burrs ; 

I inhaled the violet's breath ; 

Around me stood the oaks and firs ; 

Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground ; 

Over me soared the eternal sky, 

Full of light and of deity ; 

Again I saw, again I heard, 

The rolling river, the morning bird ; 

Beauty through my senses stole — 

I yielded myself to the perfect whole. 




jfldelaide Ji. (Procter. 

O not crouch to-day, and worship, 

The old Past whose life is fled : 
Hush your voice with tender reverence ; 

Crowned he lies, but cold and dead : 
For the Present reigns our monarch, 

With an added weight of hours : 
Honor her, for she is mighty ! 

Honor her, for she is nnr» 1 



THE PRESENT. 387 



See, the shadows of his heroes 

Girt around her cloudy throne ; 
Every day the ranks are strengthened 

By great hearts to him unknown ; 
Noble things the great Past promised-; 

Holy dreams both strange and new ; 
But the Present shall fulfil them, 

What he promised, she shall do. 

She inherits all his treasures, 

She is heir to all his fame ; 
And the light that lightens round her 

Is the lustre of his name. 
She is wise with all his wisdom. 

Living on his grave she stands ; 
On her brow she bears his laurels, 

And his harvest in her hands. 

Coward, can she reign and conquer 

If we thus her glory dim ? 
Let us fight for her as nobly 

As our fathers fought for him. 
God, who crowns the dying ages, 

Bids her rule and us obey : 
Bids us cast our lives before her, 

Bids us serve the great To-day. 



^t5*.t^4'^^{-^ 



388 THE BELLS. 




EdgcbT fi. ipoe. 

' EAR the sledges with the bells — 

Silver bells — 
What a world of merriment their melody foretells 
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

In the icy air of night ! 
While the stars that oversprinkle 
AU the heavens, seem to twinkle 
With a crystalline delight ; 
Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 

Hear the mellow wedding-bells. 
Golden bells ! 
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight 
From the molten-golden notes ! 
And all in tune. 
What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 
On the moon 1 



THE UELLS. 389 



Oh, from out the sounding cells, 
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! 
How it swells ! 
How it dwells 
On the Future ! how it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 
To the swinging and the ringing 

Of the bells, bells, bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, beUs, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! 

Hear the loud alarum bells — 
Brazen bells ! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright ! 
Too much horrified to speak, 
They can only shriek, shriek. 
Out of tune. 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire. 
In a mad expostulation Avith the deaf and frantic fire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
With a desperate desire. 
And a resolute endeavor. 
Now — now to sit or never, 
By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
Oh, the bells, bells, bells ! 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of despair ! 



390 THE BELLS. 



How tliey clang, and clash, and roar ! . 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
Yet the ear, it fully knows, 
By the twanging 
And the clanging, 
How the danger ebbs and flows ; 
Yet the ear distinctly tells, 
In the jangling 
And the wrangling, 
How the danger sinks and swells, 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — 
Of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! 

Hear the tolling of the bells — 
Iron bells ! 
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! 
In the silence of the night 
How we shiver with affright 
At the melancholy menace of their tone ! 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats, 

Is a groan : 
And the people — ah, the people — 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone, 
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, 
In that muffled monotone. 



THE BELLS. 391 



Feel a glory in so rolLng 

On the human heart a stone — 
They are neither man nor woman — 
They are neither brute nor human — 

They are Ghouls ! 
And their king it is who tolls ; 
And he roUs, rolls, rolls, rolls, 

A pcean from the bells ! 
And his merry bosom swells 

With the paean of the bells ! 
And he dances and he yells ; 
Keeping time, time, time, t 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 

To the poean of the beUs — 
Of the bells ; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 

To the throbbing of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, 

To the sobbing of the bells ; 
Keeping time, time, time. 

As he knells, knells, knells, 
In a happy Runic rhyme. 

To the rolling of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells — 

To the tolling of the bells. 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
. BeUs, bells, bells, — 
To the moaning and the groaning of the oells. 



392 RAIN IN SUMMER. 




Earn ivk Eammeir. 

Longfellow. 



OW beautiful is the rain ! 
'After the dust and the heat, 
In the broad and fiery street, 
In the narrow lane, 
How beautiful is the rain ! 



How it clatters along the roofs. 

Like the tramp of hoofs ! 
How it gushes and struggles out 
From the throat of the overflowing spout ! 
Across the window-pane 
It pours and pours ; 
And swift and wide. 
With a muddy tide. 
Like a river down the gutter roars 
The rain, the welcome rain ! 

The sick man from his chamber looks 

At the twisted brooks ; 

He can feel the cool 

Breath of each little pool ; 

His fevered brain 

Grows calm again, 

And he breathes a blessing on the rain. 



RAIX IN SUMMER. 393 



From the neighboring school 

Come the boys, 

With more than their wonted noise 

And commotion ; 

And down the wet streets 

Sail their mimic fleets, 

Till the treacherous pool 

Engulfs them in its whirling 

And turbulent ocean. 



In the country on every side. 

Where far and wide, 

Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide 

Stretches the plain, 

To the dry grass and the drier grain 

How welcome is the rain 1 



In the furrowed land 

The toilsome and patient oxen stand ; 

Lifting the yoke-encumbered head, 

With their dilated nostrils spread. 

They silently inhale 

The clover-scented gale, 

And the vapors that arise 

From the well-watered and smoking soil. 

For this rest in the furrow after toil 

Their large and lustrous eyes 

Seem to thank the Lord, 

More than man's spoken word. 



31>4 ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL. 

Near at hand, 

From under the sheltering trees, 

The farmer sees 

His pastures and his fields of grain. 

As they bend their tops 

To the numberless beating drops 

Of the incessant rain. 

He counts it as no sin 

That he sees therein 

Only his own thrift and gain. 



Leiq-Ji Hunt. 



BOU Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase) 

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
^And saw within the moonlight in his room, 
^Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel writing in a book of gold : — 
Exceeding peace nad made Ben Adhem bold. 
And to the Presence in the room he said, 
•' What writest thou ? " — The vision raised its head, 
And, with a look made of all sweet accord. 
Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord." 
" And is mine one ? " said Abou. " Nay, not so," 
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low. 




THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 



395 



But cheerly still ; and said, '* I pray thee then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 

The Angel wrote and vanished. The next night 

It came again with a great wakening light, 

And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, 

And lo I Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 

— H> C»>a« ' C 4K — 



i{'. Bouthey. 



-^ ^^<<m - €>'' 




O stir in the air, no stir in the sea. 
The ship was as still as she could be. 
Her sails from heaven received no motion, 
Her keel was steady in the ocean. 

Without either sign or sound of their shock 
The waves flow'd over the Inchcape Rock ; 

So little, they rose, so little they fell. 

They did not move the Inchcape Bell. 

The good old Abbot of Aberbrothok 
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock ; 
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung. 
And over the waves its warning rung. 

When the Rock was hid by the surges' swell. 
The Mariners heard the warning bell ; 



396 THE IXCIICAPE KOCK. 

And then they knew the perilous Rock, 
And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothoki 

The sun in heaven was shining gay, 

All things were joyful on that day ; 

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round. 

And there was joyance in their sound. 

The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen 
A darker speck on the ocean green ; 
Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, 
And he fixed his eye on a darker speck. 

He felt the cheering power of spring, 
It made him whistle, it made him sing ; 
His heart was mirthful to excess, 
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness. 

His eye was on the Inchcape float ; 
Quoth he, " My men, put out the boat. 
And row me to the Inchcape Rock, 
And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok." 

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row. 

And to the Inchcape Rock they go ; 

Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, 

And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float. 

Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound, 
The bubbles rose and burst around : 



THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 397 

Quoth Sir Ralph, " The next who comes to the Rock 
Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok." 

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away. 
He scoured the seas for many a day ; 
And now grown rich with plundered store, 
He steers his course for Scotland's shore. 

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky 
They cannot see the sun on high ; 
The wind hath blown a gale all day, 
At evening it hath died away. 

On the deck the Rover takes his stand. 
So dark it is they see no land. 
Quoth Sir Ralph, " It will be lighter soon. 
For there is the dawn of the rising moon." 

" Canst hear," said one, " the breakers roar ? 
For methinks we should be near the shore ; 
Now where we are I cannot teU, 
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell." 

They hear no sound, the swell is strong ; 
Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, 
1 ill the vessel strikes with a shivering shock ; 
Cried they, " It is the Inchcape Rock ! " 

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair. 
He curst himself in his despair ; 



398 THE RAINBOW. 



The waves rush in on every side, 
The ship is sinking beneath the tide. 

But even in his dying fear 
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear, 
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell 
The fiends below were ringing his knell. 



/. Kehle. 




FRAGMENT of a rainbow bright 
Through the moist air I see, 

All dark and damp on yonder height, 
All bright and clear to me. 

An hour ago the storm was here. 
The gleam was far behind, 

So will our joys and grief appear. 
When earth has ceased to blind. 



Grief will be joy if on its edge 
Fall soft that holiest ray, 

Joy will be grief if no faint pledge 
Be there of heavenly day. 



ONLY A CURL. 399 




J\^rs. ^I'ozuning-. 

RIENDS of faces unknown, and a land 

Unvisited over the sea, 
Who tell me how lonely you stand 
With a single gold curl in the hand, 

Held up to be looked at by me, — 



While you ask me to ponder, and say 
What a father and mother can do 
With the bright fellow-locks put away. 
Out of reach, beyond kiss, in the clay. 

Where the violets press nearer than you,- 

Shall I speak like a poet, or run 
Into weak woman's tears for relief ? 

Oh, children — I never lost one ; 

Yet my arm's round my own little son. 
And Love knows the secret of grief. 

And I feel what it must be and is, 

When God draws a new angel so. 
Through the house of a man up to His, 
With a murmur of music you miss, 
And a rapture of light you forego: 



400 OXLY A CURL. 



How you think, staring on at the door 
Where the face of your angel flashed in, 

That its brightness, familiar before, 

Burns off from you ever the more 
For the dark of your sorrow and sin. 

" God lent him and takes him," you sigh. 

Nay, there let me break with your pain : 
God 's generous in giving, say I, 
And the thing which he gives, I deny 

That he ever can take back again. 

He gives what he gives : I appeal 

To all who bear babes ; in the hour 
When the veil of the body we feel 
Rent around us — while torments reveal 
The motherhood's advent in power, — 

And the babe cries — has each of us known 

By apocalypse — God being there 
Full in nature — the child is our own. 
Life of life, love of love, moan of moan, 
Through all changes, all times, everywhere, ■ 

He's ours, and forever. Believe, 

O father ! — O mother, look back 
To the first love's assurance ! To give 
Means, with God, not to tempt or deceive, 
With a cup thrust in Benjamin's sack. 



OXLY A CLRL. 401 

He gives what he gives. Be content ! 

He resumes nothing given — be sure 1 
God lend ? Where the usurers lent 
In his temple, indignant he went. 

And scourged away all those impure. 

He lends not, but gives to the end, 
As he loves to the end. If it seem 

That he draws back a gift, comprehend 

'Tis to add to it, rather, amend, 
And finish it up to your dream, — 

Or keep, as a mother may, toys 

Too costly, though given by herself, 

Till the room shall be stiller from noise, 

And the children more fit for such joys. 

Kept over their heads on the shelf. 

So look up, friends ! you who indeed 

Have possessed in your house a sweet piece 
Of the heaven which men strive for, must need 
Be more earnest than others are — speed 
Where they loiter, persist where they cease. 

You know how one angel smiles there, — 

Then, courage. 'Tis easy for you 
To be drawn by a single gold hair 
Of that curl, from earth's storm and despair 

To the safe place above us. Adieu. 
26 



402 DOUGLAS, TENDER AND TRUE. 




(Xinah Jdaria Jid'ulook. 
" Dowglas, Dowglas, tendlr and tren." 

OULD ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, 

In the old likeness that I knew, 
I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas, 

Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 

Never a scornful word should grieve ye, 
I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do: 

Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 



to call back the days that are not ! 

My eyes were blinded, your words were few ; 
Do you know the truth now up in heaven, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true ? 

1 never was worthy of you, Douglas, 

Not half worthy the like of you ; 
Now all men beside seem to me like shadows — 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 

Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas, 
Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew, 

As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas, 
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. 



RING OUT, A^aLD BELLS. 403 



Mm 



^ 



Tennyson. 




ING out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
The flying cloud, the frosty light : 
The year is dying in the night — 

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new — 
Ring, happy bells, across the snow ; 
The year is going, let him go ; 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 



Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more ; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause. 
And ancient forms of party strife ; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
The faithless coldness of the times ; 
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, 

But ring the fuller minstrel in. 



404 sxravE, avait, and pray. 



Ring out false pride in place and blood, 
The civic slander and the spite : 
Ring in the love of truth and right, 

Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease, 
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
Ring out the thousand wars of old, 

Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

Ring in the valiant man and free, 
The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
Ring out the darkness of the land — 

Ring in the Christ that is to be. 



— >Q <5 >- y3K4^> ^^ — 




Jldelaide ji. (prooter- 

TRIVE : yet I do not promise 

The prize you dream of to-day 
Will not fade when you think to grasp it, 

And melt in your hand away ; 
But another and holier treasure, 

You would now perchance disdain. 
Will come when your toil is over, 

And pay you for all your pain. 




" Break, Break, Break, 
On thy cold gray stones, sea." — Page 405. 




BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. 405 

Wait : yet I do not tell you 

The hour you long for now 
Will not come with its radiance vanished, 

And a shadow upon its brow ; 
Yet, far through the misty future, 

With a crown of starry light, 
An hour of joy you know not 

Is winging her silent flight. 

Pray : though the gift you ask for 

May never comfort your fears — 
May never repay your pleading — 

Yet pray, and with hopeful tears ; 
An answer, not that you long for. 

But diviner wUl come one day ; 
Your eyes are too dim to see it, 

Yet strive, and wait, and pray. 



Bxeali, Bi^eak, Bii^iak. 

Tennyson. 

REAK, break, break. 

On thy cold gray stones, O sea ! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 

The thoughts that arise in me. 

O well for the fisherman's boy 

That he shouts with his sister at play ! 

well for the sailor lad 

That he sings in his boat on the bay ! 



406 THE GIFTS OF GOD. 



And the stately ships go on 

To the haven under the hill ; 
But O for the touch of a vanished hand, 

And the sound of a voice that is still ! 

Break, break, break, 

At the foot of thy crags, O sea ! 
But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

Will never come back to me. 






Herbert. 




\(\ HEN God at first made man, 
^ Having a glass of blessings standing by, 
IKJL^VW/^ " Let us," said he, " pour on him all we can ; 
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie. 
Contract into a span." 

So strength first made a way ; 
Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honor, pleasure ; 
When almost all was out, God made a stay. 
Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure. 

Best in the bottom lay. 

" For if 1 should," said he, 

" Bestow this jewel also on my creature, 

He would adore my gifts instead of me, 

And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature ; 

So both should losers be. 



I^'COMPI,ETE^'ESS. 40' 



" Yet let him keep the rest, 
But keep them with repining restlessness ; 
Let him be sick and weary, that at least, 
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness 

May toss him to my breast." 



fid,elcLide fi. (Procter. 

OTHING resting in its own completeness. 
Can have worth or beauty : but alone 

Because it leads and tends to further sweetness, 
FuUer, higher, deeper, than its own. 

Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning, 
Gracious though it be, of her blue hours ; 

But is hidden in her tender leaning 

Toward the summer's richer wealth of flowers 



Dawn is fair, because her mists fade slowly 
Into day which floods the world with light ; 

Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy. 
Just because it ends in starry night. 

Life is only bright when it proceedeth 
Toward a truer, deeper Life above : 

Human love is sweetest when it leadeth 
To a more divine and perfect love. 




408 TIIK KETURX OF YOUTH. 

Child'iood's smiles unconscious graces borrow 
From strife that in a far-off future lies ; 

And angel glances veiled now by life's sorrow, 
Draw our hearts to some beloved eyes. 

Learn the mystery of progression duly : 
Do not call each glorious change decay ; 

But know we only hold our treasures truly, 
When it seems as if they passed awf.y. 

Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness ; 

In that want their beauty lies ; they roll 
Toward some infinite depth of love and sweetness, 

Bearing onward man's reluctant soul. 



F^rryant. 

Y friend, thou sorrowest for thy golden prime, 
For thy fair youthful years, too swift of flight ; 
j,|^^Ihou musest with wet eyes upon the time 

Of cheerful hopes that filled the world with 
light, — 
Years when thy heart was bold, thy hand was 
strong. 

And quick the thought that moved thy tongue to speak, 
And willing faith was thine, and scorn of wTong 
Summoned the sudden crimson to thy cheek. 




THE RETURN OF YOUTH. 409 

Thou lookest forward on the coming days, 

Shuddering to feel their shadow o'er thee creep : 
A path, thick-set with changes and decays, 

Slopes downward to the place of common sleep ; 
And they who walked with thee in life's first stage. 

Leave, one by one, thy side ; and, waiting near, 
Thou seest the sad companions of thy age, — 

Dull love of rest, and weariness, and fear. 

Yet grieve thou not, nor think thy youth is gone, 

Nor deem that glorious season e'er could die ; 
Thy pleasant youth, a little whUe withdrawn. 

Waits on the horizon of a brighter sky ; — 
Waits like the morn, that folds her wing and hides. 

Till the slow stars bring back her dawning hour ; 
Waits like the vanished Spring, that slumbering bides 

Her own sweet time to waken bud and flower. 

There shall he welcome thee, when thou shalt stand 

On his bright morning hills, with smiles more sweet 
Than when at first he took thee by the hand. 

Through the fair earth to lead thy tender feet. 
He shall bring back, but brighter, broader still. 

Life's early glory to thine eyes again ; 
Shall clothe thy spirit with new strength, and fill 

Thy leaping heart with warmer love than then 

Hast thou not glimpses, in the twilight here. 
Of mountains where immortal morn prevails ? 

Comes there not through the silence, to thine ear, 
A gentle rustling of the morning gales ? 



410 LABOR AND REST. 



A murmur, wafted from that glorious shore, 
Of streams that water banks forever fair ; 

And -voices of the loved ones gone before, 
More musical in that celestial air ? 




(2)mah JVEaria. JVLulodh. 

)W0 hands upon the breast, 

And labor 's done ; 
I Two pale feet crossed in rest, 

The race is run ; 
Two eyes with coin-weights shut. 

And all tears cease ; 
Two lips where grief is mute, 
And wrath at peace ! — 
So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot, — 
God in his mercy answereth not. 

Two hands to work addressed 

Aye for his praise ; 
Two feet that never rest. 

Walking his ways ; 
Two eyes that look above. 

Still through all tears ; 
Two lips that breathe but love, 

Nevermore fears : 
So pray we afterward low on our knees ; — 

Pardon those erring prayers ! 
Father, hear these 1 



THE SAXDS O' DEE. 411 




Tin© Saads @' Bee. 

C Kingsley. 



MARY, go and call the cattle home. 
And call the cattle home. 
And call the cattle home, 
Across the sands o' Dee ! " 
The western wind was wild and dank with foam, 
And all alone went she. 



The creeping tide came up along the sand, 
And o'er and o'er the sand. 
And round and round the sand, 
As far as eye could see ; 
The blinding mist came down and hid the land — 
And never home came she. 

Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair ? — 
A tress o' golden hair, 
O' drowned maiden's hair, 
Above the nets at sea. 
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair 
Among the stakes on Dee. 

They rowed her in across the rolling foam. 
The cruel crawling foam. 
The cruel hungry foam, 
To her grave beside the sea ; 
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, 
Across the sands o' Dee. 



412 



THE WRKCK OF THE HESPERUS. 



Longfellow. 



— H>^#ae^!^^K — 



T was the schooner Hesperus, 
That sailed the wintry sea ; 
^JXT^ And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 
To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm. 

His pipe was in his mouth, 
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke now west, now south. 

Then up and spake an old sailor. 

Had sailed the Spanish Main : 
" I pray thee put into yonder port. 

For I fear the hurricane. 



" Last night the moon had a golden ring. 
And to-night no moon we see ! " 

The skipper he blew a whiff" from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 413 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the north-east ; 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Do^vn came the storm and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

" Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter. 
And do not tremble so ; * 

For I can weather the roughest gale 
That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat. 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 
And bound her to the mast. 

" O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 

O say, what may it be ? " 
" 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast I " 

And he steered for the open sea. 

" father ! I hear the sound of guns, 

O say, what may it be ? " 
•' Some ship in distress that cannot live 

In such an angry sea 1 " 



414 THE M'RECK OF THE HESPERUS. 



" O father ! I see a gleaming light, 

O say, what may it be ? " 
But the father answered never a word, — 

A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark. 
With his face turned to the skies. 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

t Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 

That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ who stilled the waves 
Od the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow. 

Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept 
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land ; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck. 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 






O re 
re "O 




THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 41 i 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks they gored her sides 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass she stove and sank, 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared. 

At daybreak on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast. 
To see the form of a maiden fair 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And be saw her hair like the brown sea-weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 

In the midnight and the snow ; 
Heav3n save us aU from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 



>» } r^riiiw<« 



416 THE SUMMER SHOWER. 







EFORE the stout harvesters falleth the grain, 
As when the strong storm-wind is reaping the 

plain, 
And loiters the boy in the briery lane ; 
But yonder aslant comes the silvery rain, 

Like a long line of spears brightly burnished 

and tall. 



Adown the white highway like cavalry fleet. 
It dashes the dust with its numberless feet. 
Like a murmurless school, in their leafy retreat. 
The wild birds sit listening the drops round them beat ; 
And the boy crouches close to the blackberry wall. 

The swallows alone take the storm on their wing, 
And, taunting the tree-sheltered laborers, sing. 
Like pebbles the rain breaks the face of the spring, 
While a bubble darts up from each mdening ring; 
And the boy in dismay hears the loud shower fall. 

But soon are the harvesters tossing their sheaves ; 
The robin darts out from his bower of leaves ; 
The wren peereth forth from the moss-covered eaves ; 
And the rain-spattered urchin now gladly perceives 
That the beautiful bow bendeth over them all. 



THE OLD man's CO^IFORTS. 41' 



V 



if. Southey. 




OU are old, Father William," the young man cried, 
*' The few locks which are left you are gray ; 

You are hale. Father William, a hearty old man, 
Now teU me the reason, I pray." 

" In the days of my youth," Father William re- 
plied, 

" I remembered that youth would fly fast. 
And abused not my health and my vigor at first. 
That I never might need them at last." 

" You are old. Father William," the young man cried, 
" And pleasures with youth pass away ; 

And yet you lament not the days that are gone, 
Now tell me the reason, I pray." 

" In the days of my youth," Father William replied, 
" I remembered that youth could not last ; 

1 thought of the future whatever I did, 
That I never might grieve for the past." 

" You are old, Father William," the young man cried, 

" And life must be hastening away ; 
You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death. 

Now tell me the reason, I pray." 
27 



418 AUTUMN. 

" I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied, 
" Let the cause thy attention engage : 

In the days of my youth I remembered my God, 
And He hath not forgotten my age." 

— H>i S > ^a<,0 »< — 




(P. S- Shelley. 

HE warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, 
' The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are 
dying ; 
And the year 
On the earth, her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves 
dead 
Is lying. 
Come, Months, come away. 
From Novenil)er to May, 
In youi saddest array, — 
Follow the bier 
Of the dead cold year, 
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. 

The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm is crawling, 
The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling 

For the year ; 
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone 

To his dwelling. 



TO DAFFODILS. 419 



Come, Months, come away; 
Put on white, black, and gray ; 
Let your light sisters play ; 
Ye, follow the bier 
Of the dead cold year, 
And make her grave green with tear on teax. 



\ 

if. Herrioh. 




AIR daffodils, we weep to see 

You haste away so soon ; 
As yet the early rising sun 

Has not attained his noon : 
Stay, stay. 

Until the hastening day 
Has run 

But to the even-song ; 
And having prayed together, we 

Will go with you along. 

We have short time to stay, as you; 

We have as short a spring ; 
As quick a growth to meet decay 

As you, or any thing : 
We die. 



420 THE FOUNTAIN, 



As your hours do ; and dry 

Away 
Like to the summer's rain, 
Or as the pearls of morning dew, 
Ne'er to be found again. 



— -xj^^'3se4'©<H — 



James Ificssell Lowsll 




NTO the sunshine, 
FuU of the light. 
Leaping and flashing 
p From morn till night I 

Into the moonlight, 
Whiter than snow, 

"Waving so flower-like 
When the winds blow ! 

Into the starlight, 
Rushing in spray, 

Happy at midnight, 
Happy by day ! 



THE FOUNTAIN. 421 



Ever in motion, 

Blithesome and cheery, 
Still climbing heavenward. 

Never aweary ; 

Glad of all weathers. 
Still seeming best. 

Upward or downward 
Motion thy rest ; 

FuU of a nature 
Nothing can tame, 

Changed every moment, 
Ever the same ; 

Ceaseless aspiring, 

Ceaseless content. 
Darkness or sunshine 

Thy element ; 

Glorious fountain ! 

Let my heart be 
Fresh, changeful, constant, 

Upward like thee ! 




422 



LIFE 8 GOOD-MORXING. 



F.. JonsoTi. 




T is not growing like a tree 

In bulk, doth make man better be ; 
Or standing long an oak three hundred year. 
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere ; 
A lily of a day 
Is fairer far in May, 
Although it fall and die that night — 
It was the plant and flower of -Light. 
In small proportions we just beauty see ; 
And in short measures life may perfect be. 



JxrhThOb Letiticu F)CbrhxuldL. 




iIFE ! we've been long together, 

T'lrough pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 

'Tis hard to part when friends are dear ; 

Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear ; 

Then steal away, give little warning, 

Choose thine own time ; 
Say not Good-Night, but in some brighter climt 

Bid me Good-Morning. 




HASTE xot! rest xot ! 423 



last© Mat I Best K@tl 

Goethe. 
(Anon. Translation. 



A ITHOUT haste ! without rest ! 
F|r| ^Bind the motto to thy breast ; 
i^ji4!^ Bear it with thee as a spell ; 

Storm or sunshine, guard it well ! 
Heed not flowers that 'round thee bloom. 
Bear it onward to the tomb ! 

Haste not ! Let no thoughtless deed 
Mar for aye the spirit's speed ! 
Ponder well, and know the right, 
Onward then, with all thy might ! 
Haste not ! years can ne'er atone 
For one reckless action done. 

Rest not ! Life is sweeping by, 
Go and dare, before you die ; 
Something mighty and sublime 
Leave behind to conquer time ! 
Glorious 'tis to live for aye, 
"When these forms have passed away 

Haste not ! rest not ! calmly wait ; 
Meekly bear the storms of fate ! 
Duty be thy polar guide ; — 
Do the right whate'er betide ! 
Haste not ! rest not ! conflicts past, 
God shall crown thy work at last. 



424 BRINGIKG OUR SHEAVES WITH US. 




Elizabeth Jlkers. 

HE time for toil has passed, and night has come, — 

The last and saddest of the harvest eves ; 
Worn out with labor long and wearisome, 
Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home. 
Each laden with his sheaves. 



Last of the laborers, thy feet I gain. 

Lord of the harvest ! and my spirit grieves 
That I am burdened, not so much with grain. 
As with a heaviness of heart and brain ; — 
Master, behold my sheaves ! 

Few, light, and worthless, — yet their trifling weight 

Through all my frame a weary aching leaves ; 
For long I struggled Avith my hopeless fate. 
And stayed and toiled till it was dark and late — 
Yet these are all my sheaves. 

Full well I know I have more tares than wheat — 
Brambles and flowers, dry stalks and withered leaves 

Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet 

I kneel down reverently and repeat, 
" Master, behold my sheaves ! " 

I kno\^ these blossoms, clustering heavily, 
With evening dew upon their folded leaves. 



THK CHAMIJKKED NAUTILUS. 425 

Can claim no value or utility, — 
Therefore shall firagrancy and beauty he 
The glory of my sheaves. 

So do I gather strength and hope anew ; 

For well I know thy patient love perceives 
Not what I did, but what I strove to do, — 
And though the full ripe ears be sadly few, 

Thou wilt accept my sheaves. 



Oliver W. Holmes. 



' HIS is the ship of pearl which, poets feign, 
Sails the unshadowed main — 
The venturous bark that flings 
\^^ On the sweet summer wind its purple wings 
In gulfs enchanted, where the syren sings, 

And coral reefs lie bare. 
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their strfeam. 
ing hair. 

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl : 

"Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! 

And every chambered cell 
Where its dim-dreaming life was wont to dwell, 
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, 




42G THE CHAMBKRED NAUTILUS. 

Before thee lies revealed — 
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed. 

Year after year beheld the silent toil 

That spread his lustrous coil : 

Still as the spiral grew, 
He left the past year's dwelling for the new, 
Stole with soft step its shining archway through, 

BuUt up its idle door, 
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old 



Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee. 

Child of the wandering sea, 

Cast from her lap forlorn ! 
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! 

While on mine ear it rings, 
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that 
sings : , 

BuUd thee more stately mansions, O my soul, 

As the SAvift seasons roU ! 

Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the last, 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, 

TiU thou at length art free. 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ' 



THE OT>X> -WORT.D AND THE KEAV. 427 




Georg'e ^erlceley. 

HE Muse, disgusted at an age and clime 
Barren of every glorious theme, 

In distant lands now waits a better time 
Producing subjects worthy fame : 

In happy climes where, from the genial sun 
And virgin earth, such scenes ensue ; 

The force of art by nature seems outdone, 
And fancied beauties by the true : 



In happy climes the seat of innocence, 
Where nature guides and virtue rules ; 

Where men shall not impose for truth and sense 
The pedantry of courts and schools : 

There shall be sung another golden age, 

The rise of empire and of arts ; 
The good and great inspiring epic rage. 

The wisest heads and noblest hearts. 

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay, — 
Such as she bred when fresh and young. 

When heavenly flame did animate her clay, 
By future poets shall be sung. 



428 A STRIP OF BLUE. 



Westward the course of empire takes its way : 

The four first acts aheady past, 
A fifth shall close the drama with the day ; 

Time's noblest ofispring is his last. 



Lu3y Lareom. 




DO not own an inch of land, 

But all I see is mine — 
The orchard and the mowing-fields, 

The lawns and gardens fine. 
The winds my tax-collectors are, 

They bring me tithes divine — 
Wild scents and subtle essences, 

A tribute rare and firee : 
And more magnificent than all, 

My window keeps for me 
A glimpse of blue immensity — 

A little strip of sea. 

Richer am I than he who owns 
Great fleets and argosies ; 

I have a share in every ship 
Won by the inland breeze 

To loiter on yon airy road 
Above the apple-trees. 



A STRIP OF BLUE. 429 



I freight them with my untold dreams, 
Each bears my own picked crew ; 

And nobler cargoes wait for them 
Than ever India knew — 

My ships that saU. into the East 
Across that outlet blue. 

Sometimes they seem like living shapes — 

The people of the sky — 
Guests in white raiment coming down 

From Heaven, which is close by : 
I call them by familiar names, 

As one by one draws nigh, 
So white, so light, so spirit-like. 

From violet mists they bloom ! 
The aching wastes of the unknown 

Are half reclaimed from gloom, 
Since on life's hospitable sea 

AU souls find sailing-room. 

The ocean grows a weariness 

With nothing else in sight ; 
Its east and west, its north and south. 

Spread out from morn to night : 
We miss the warm, caressing shore, 

Its brooding shade and light. 
A part is greater than the whole ; 

By hints are mysteries told ; 
The fringes of eternity — 

God's sweeping garment-fold. 
In that bright shred of glimmering sea, 

I reach out for, and hold. 



430 A STRIP OF BLUE. 



The sails, like flakes of roseate pearl, 

Float in upon the mist ; 
The waves are broken precious stones - 

Sapphire and amethyst, 
Washed from celestial basement walls, 

By suns unsetting kissed. 
Out through the utmost gates of space, 

Past where the gay stars drift. 
To the widening Infinite, my soul 

Glides on a vessel swift ; 
Yet loses not her anchorage 

In yonder azure rift. 

Here sit I, as a little child : 

The threshold of God's door 
Is that clear band of chrysoprase ; 

Now the vast temple floor, 
The blinding glory of the dome 

I bow my head before : 
The universe, O God, is homfe, 

In height or depth to me ; 
Yet here upon thy footstool green 

Content am I to be ; 
Glad when is opened to my need 

Some sea-like glimpse of thee. 




soxG. 431 



if. JTkf. JV[ilne 

WANDERED by the brook-side, 

I wandered by the mill, — 
I could not hear the brook flow. 

The noisy wheel was still ; 
There was no burr of grasshopper, 

Nor chirp of any bird ; 
But the beating of my own heart 

Was all the sound I heard. 



I sat beneath the elm-tree, 

I watched the long, long shade, 
And as it grew still longer 

I did not feel afraid ; 
For I listened for a footfall, 

I listened for a word, — 
But the beating of my own heart 

Was all the sound I heard. 

He came not, — no, he came not ; 

The night came on alone ; 
The little stars sat one by one 

Each on his golden throne ; 
The evening air passed by my cheek, 

The leaves above were stirred, — 
But the beating of my own heart 

Was all the sound I heard. 



432 JOIIX BUKXS OF GETTYSBUnG. 

Fast silent tears were flowing, 

When some one stood behind ; 
A hand was on my shoulder, 

I knew its touch was kind : 
It drew me nearer, nearer ; 

We did not speak a word, — 
For the beating of o\ir own hearts 

Was all the sound we heard. 

— s-C^ — 




^ret Harte. 



AVE you heard the story that gossips tell 

Of Burns of Gettysburg ? — No ? Ah, well : 

Brief is the glory that hero earns, 

Briefer the story of poor John Burns : 

He was the fellow who won renown, — 

The only man who didn't back down 

When the rebels rode through his native town : 

But held his own in the fight next day, 

When all his townsfolk ran away. 

That was in July, sixty-three. 

The very day that General Lee, 

Flower of Southern chivalry, 

Baffled and beaten, backward reeled 

From a stubborn Meade and a barren field. 

I miglit tell how, but the day before, 

John Burns stood at his cottage-door. 



JOHX BURNS OF GETXySBUKG. 433 

Looking down the village street, 
^Vhere, in the shade of his peaceful vine, 
He heard the low of his gathered kine. 
And felt their breath with incense sweet ; 
Or I might say, when the sunset burned 
The old farm gable, he thought it turned 
The milk that fell, in a babbling flood 
Into the milk-pail, red as blood ! 
Or how he fancied the hum of bees 
Were bullets buzzing among the trees. 
But all such fanciful thoughts as these 
Were strange to a practical man like Bums, 
Who minded only his own concerns, 
Troubled no more by fancies fine 
Than one of his calm-eyed, long-tailed kine, — 
Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact, 
Slow to argue, but quick to act. 
That was the reason, as some folks say, 
He fought so well on that terrible day. 

And it was terrible. On the right 
Raged for hours the heady fight, 
Thundered the battery's double bass, — 
Difficult music for men to face ; 
While on the left — where now the graves 
Undulate like the living waves 
That all that day unceasing swept 
Up to the pits the rebels kept — 
Round-shot ploughed the upland glades, 
Goyra with bullets, reaped with blades ; 
28 



4-34 JOHN BURXS OF GETTYSBURG. 

Shattered fences here and there 

Tossed their splinters in the air ; 

The very trees were stripped and bare ; 

The barns that once held yellow grain 

Were heaped with harvests of the slain ; 

The cattle bellowed on the plain, 

The turkeys screamed with might and main, 

And brooding barn-fowl left their rest 

With strange shells bursting in each nest. 

Just where the tide of battle turns, 

Erect and lonely stood old John Burns. 

How do you think the man was dressed ? 

He wore an ancient long buff vest. 

Yellow as saffron, — but his best ; 

And, buttoned over his manly breast, 

Was a bright blue coat, with a rolling collar. 

And large gilt buttons, — size of a dollar, — 

With tails that the country-folk called " swaller." 

He wore a broad- br^nmed, bell-crowned hat. 

White as the locks on which it sat. 

Never had such a sight been seen 

For forty years on the village green, 

Since old John Burns was ,a country beau. 

And went to the " quiltings " long ago. 

Close at his elbows all that day, 
Veterans of the Peninsula, 
Sunburnt and bearded, charged away ; 
And striplings, downy of lip and chin, — 
Clerks that the Home Guard mustered in, — 



JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. 435 

Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore, 

Then at the rifle his right hand bore ; 

And hailed him, from out their youthful lore. 

With scraps of a slangy repertoire : 

" How are you, White Hat ? " " Put her through." 

" Your head 's level," and " Bully for you ! " 

Called him " Daddy," — begged he'd disclose 

The name of the tailor who made his clothes, 

And what was the value he set on those ; 

While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff, 

Stood there picking the rebels off, — 

With his long brown rifle, and bell-crown hat. 

And the swaUow-tails they were laughing at. 

'Twas but a moment, for that respect 
Which clothes all courage their voices checked, 
And something the wildest could understand 
Spake in the old man's strong right hand ; 
And his corded throat, and the lurking fro'wn 
Of his eyebrows under his old bell-crown ; 
Until, as they gazed, there crept an awe 
Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw 
In the antique vestments and long white hair. 
The Past of the Nation in battle there ; 
And some of the soldiers since declare 
That the gleam of his old white hat afar. 
Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre, 
That day was their oriflamme of war. 

So raged the battle. You know the rest : 
How the rebels, beaten and backward pressec' 



436 QUESTIOXS OF THE HOUR. 

Broke at the final charge and ran. 
At which John Burns — a practical man — 
Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows, 
And then went back to his bees and cows. 

That is the story of old John Burns : 
This is the moral the reader learns : 
In fighting the battle, the question 's whether 
You'll show a hat that's white, or a feather ! 



Barah Jvl. g. (Piatt. 



O angels wear white dresses, say ? 

Always, or only in the summer ? Do 
Their birthdays have to come like mine, in May i 

Do they have scarlet sashes then, or blue ? 

" When little Jessie died last night, 

How could she walk to Heaven — it is so far ? 
How did she find the way without a light ? 

There wasn't even any moon or star. 

" Will she have red or golden wings ? 

Then will she have to be a bird, and fly ? 
Do they take men like presidents and kings 

In hearses with black plumes clear to the sky ? 




QUESTIOXS OF THK HOUR. 43' 



" How old is God ? Has he gray hair ? 

Can he see yet ? Where did he have to stay 
Before — you know — he had made — Anpvhere ? 

Who does he pray to — when he has to pray ? 

" How many drops are in the sea ? 

How many stars ? — well, then, you ought to know 
How many flowers are on an apple-tree ? 

How does the wind look when it doesn't blow ? 

" Where does the rainbow end ? And why 

Did — Captain Kidd — bury the gold there ? When 

Will this world burn ? And will the firemen try 
To put the fire out with the engines then ? 

" If you should ever die, may we 

Have pumpkins growing in the garden, so 

My fairy godmother can come for me, 

"WTien there's a prince's ball, and let me go ? 

" Read Cinderella just once more — 

What makes — men's other wives — so mean ? " I know 
That I was tired, it may be cross, before 

I shut the painted book for her to go. 

Hours later, from a child's white bed 

I heard the timid, last queer question start : 

" Mamma, are you — my stepmother ? " it said. 
The innocent reproof crept to my heart. 



438 THE DOORSTEP. 




E. Q. Stedman. 



HE conference-meeting through at last, 
We boys around the vestry waited 

To see the girls come tripping past 
Like snow-birds willing to be mated. 

Not braver he that leaps the wall 
By level musket-flashes litten, 

Than I, who stepped before them aU 
Who longed to see me get the mitten 



But no ; she blushed and took my arm ! 

We let the old folks have the highway, 
And started toward the Maple Farm 

Along a kind of lovers' by-way. 

I can't remember what we said, 

'Twas nothing worth a song or story ; 

Yet that rude path by whiqh we sped 
Seemed all transformed and in a glory. 

The snow was crisp beneath our feet, 

The moon was full, the fields were gleaming; 

By hood and tippet sheltered sweet, 

Her face with youth and health was beaming. 



THE DOORSTEP. 439 



The little hand outside her mujBT, — 
O sculptor, if you could but mould it I 

So lightly touched my jacket-cuff, 
To keep it warm I had to hold it. 

To have her with me there alone, — 

'Twas love and fear and triumph blended. 

At last we reached the foot-worn stone 
Where that delicious journey ended. 

The old folks, too, were almost home ; 

Her dimpled hand the latches fingered, 
We heard the voices nearer come, 

Yet on the doorstep still we lingered. 

She shook her ringlets from her hood, 

And with a " Thank you, Ned," dissembled, 

But yet I knew she understood 

With what a daring wish I trembled. 

A cloud passed kindly overhead. 

The moon was slyly peeping through it, 

Yet hid its face, as if it said, 

" Come, now or never ! do it ! do it I '* 

My lips till then had only known 
The kiss of mother and of sister, 

But somehow, full upon her own 

Sweet, rosy, darling mouth, — I kissed her 

Perhaps 'twas boyish love, yet still, — 
O listless woman, Aveary lover ! — 

To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill 
I'd give — but who can live youth over ? 



440 LAKAvE. 




JS-s. fi. CD. T. Whitney. 

Y little maiden of four years old — 
No myth, but a genuine child is she, 

With her bronze-brown eyes and her curls of 
gold — 
Came, quite in disg'ast, one day to me. 

Rubbing her shoulder with rosy palm. 
As the loathsome touch seemed yet to thrill her. 

She cried, " mother ! I found on my arm 
A horrible, crawling caterpillar ! " 

And with mischievous smile she could scarcely smother, 
Yet a glance in its daring half awed and shy. 

She added, " While they were about it, mother, 
I wish they'd just finished the butterfly ! " 

They were words to the thought of the soul that turns 
From the coarser form of a partial growth. 

Reproaching the infinite patience that yearns 
With an unknown glory to crown them both. 

Ah, look thou largely, with lenient eyes. 

On whatso beside thee may creep and cling, 

For the possible glory that underlies 

The passing phase of the meanest thing ! 

What if God's great angels, whose waiting love 

Beholdeth our pitiful life below 
From the holy height of their heaven above, 

Couldn't bear with the worm tiU the wings should grow ? 



spixxixG. 441 




Helen Fislce Hunt. 

iIKE a blind spinner in the sun, 

I tread my days ; 
I know that all the threads will run 

Appointed ways ; 
I know each day will bring its task, 
And, being blind, no more I ask. 



I do not know the use or name 

Of that I spin ; 
I only know that some one came. 

And laid within 
My hand the thread, and said, " Since you 
Are blind, but one thing you can do." 

Sometimes the threads so rough and fast 

And tangled fly, 
I know wild storms are sweeping past. 

And fear that I 
Shall fall ; but dare not try to find 
A safer place, since I am blind. 

I know not why, but I am sure 

That tint and place, 
In some great fabric to endure 

Past time and race 
My threads will have ; so from the first. 
Though blind, I never felt accurst. 



442 BABIE BELL. 



I think, perhaps, this trast has sprung 

From one short word 
Said over me when I was young — 

So young I heard 
It, knowing not that God's name signed 
My brow, and sealed me his, though blind. 

But whether this be seal or sign 

Within, without. 
It matters not. The bond divine 

I never doubt. 
I know He set me here, and still, 
And glad, and blind, I wait His will ; — 

But listen, listen, day by day, 

To hear their tread 
Who bear the finished web away, 

And cut the thread. 
And bring God's message in the sun : 
"Thou poor blind spinner, work is done." 



T. g.JildHeh. 




AVE you not heard the poets tell 
How came the dainty Babie BeU 

Into this world of ours ? 
The gate3 of heaven were left ajar : 
With folded hands and dreamy eyes, 
Wandering out of Paradise, 
She saw this planet, like a star. 



15ABIE BELL. 443 

Hung in the glistening depths of even, — 
Its bridges, running to and fro, 
O'er which the white-winged Angels go, 

Bearing the holy Dead to heaven. 
She touched a bridge of flowers, — those feet 
So ligh they did not bend the bells 
Of the celestial asphodels ! 
They fell like dew upon the flowers, 
Then all the air grew strangely sweet ! 
And thus came dainty Babie Bell 

Into this world of ours. 

She came and brought delicious May, 

The swallows built beneath the eaves ; • « 
Like sunlight in and out the leaves, 

The robins went the livelong day ; 

The lily swung its noiseless bell, 

And o'er the porch the trembling vine 
Seemed bursting with its veins of wine. 

How sweetly, softly, twilight fell ! 

0, earth was full of singing-birds, 

And opening spring-tide flowers, 

When the dainty Babie Bell 

Came to this world of ours ! 

O Babie, dainty Babie Bell, 
How fair she grew from day to day ! 

What woman-nature filled her eyes. 
That poetry within them lay : 

Those deep and tender twilight eyes, 



444 BABIE BELL. 



So full of meaning, pure and bright 
As if she yet stood in the light 

Of those oped gates of Paradise. 
And so we loved her more and more : 
Ah, never in our hearts before 

Was love so lovely born : 
We felt we had a link between 
This real world and that unseen, — 

The land beyond the morn. 
And for the love of those dear eyes, 
For love of her whom God led forth, 
(The mother's being ceased on earth 
When Babie came from Paradise,) — 
For love of Him who smote our lives, 

And woke the chords of joy and pain. 
We said. Dear Christ ! — Our hearts bent down 

Like violets after rain. 

And now the orchards, which were white 
And red with blossoms when she came, 
Were rich in autumn's mellow prime : 

The clustered apples burnt like flame, 
The soft-cheeked peaches blushed and fell, 
The ivory chestnut burst its shell. 
The grapes hung purpling in the grange : 
And time wrought just as rich a change 

In little Babie Bell. 
Her lissome form more perfect grew, 
And in her features we could trace. 
In softened curves, her mother's face I 
Her angel-nature ripened too. 



BAI5IE BELL. 445 



We thought her lovely when she came. 
But she was holy, saintly now . . . 
Around her pale angelic brow 

"V /e saw a slender ring of flame ! 

God's hand had taken away the seal 

That held the portals of her speech ; 
And oft she said a few strange words 

Whose meaning lay beyond our reach. 
She never was a child to us, 
We never held her being's key ; 
We could not teach her holy things : 
She was Christ's self in purity. 

It came upon us by degrees : 

We saw its shadow ere it fell, 

The knowledge that our God had sent 

His messenger for Babie BeU. 

We shuddered with unlanguaged pain, 

And all our hopes were changed to fears, 

And all our thoughts ran into tears 

Like sunshine into rain. 

We cried aloud in our belief, 

" O, smite us gently, gently, God ! 

Teach us to bend and kiss the rod, 

And perfect grow through grief." 

Ah, how we loved her, God can tell ; 

Her heart was folded deep in ours. 

Our hearts are broken, Babie BeU ! 



44G BUST OF DAXTE. 



At last he came, the messenger, 

The messenger from unseen lands : 
And what did dainty Babie Bell ? 

She only crossed her little hands, 
She only looked more meek and fair ! 
We parted back her silken hair : 
We wove the roses round her brow. 
White buds, the summer's drifted snow, 
Wrapt her from head to foot in flowers ! 
And thus went dainty Babie Bell 
Out of this world of ours ! 




Bast ©f Baate. 

Thomas W. (Pa-rsons 



EE, from this counterfeit of him 
Whom Arno shall remember long, 
How stern of lineament, how grim. 
The father was of Tuscan song. 
There but the burning sense of wrong, 
Perpetual care and scorn, abide ; 
Small friendship for the lordly throng ; 
Distrust of all the world beside. 

Faithful if this wan image be, 
No dream his life was — but a fight. 
Could any Beatrice see 
A lover in that anchorite ? 



BUST OF DANTE. 447 



To that cold Ghibeline's gloomy sight 
Who could have guessed the visions came 
Of Beauty, veiled with heavenly light. 
In circles of eternal flame ? 

The lips as Cumae's cavern close, 
The cheeks with fast and sorrow thin, 
The rigid front, almost morose, 
But for the patient's hope within, 
Declare a life whose course hath been 
Unsullied still, though stiU severe. 
Which, through the wavering days of sin, 
Kept itself icy-chaste and clear. 

Not wholly such his haggard look 
When wandering once, forlorn, he strayed, 
With no companion save his book. 
To Corvo's hushed monastic shade ; 
"Where, as the Benedictine laid 
His palm upon the pilgrim guest, 
The single boon for which he prayed 
The convent's charity was rest. 

Peace dwells not here — this rugged face 
Betrays no spirit of repose ; 
The sullen warrior sole we trace. 
The marble man of many woes. 
Such was his mien when first arose 
The thouglit of that strange tale divine, 
When hell he peopled with his foes. 
The scourge of many a guilty line. 



448 BUST OF DANTE. 



War to the last he waged with all 
The tyrant canker-worms of earth ; 
Baron and duke, in hold and hall, 
Cursed the dark hour that gave him birth ; 
He used Rome's harlot for his mirth ; 
Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime ; 
But valiant souls of knightly worth 
Transmitted to the rolls of Time. 

O Time ! whose verdicts mock our own. 
The only righteous judge art thou ; 
That poor old exile, sad and lone, 
Is Latium's other ViKGiii now-: 
Before his name the nations bow ; 
His words are parcel of mankind, 
Deep in whose hearts, as on his brow. 
The marks have sunk of Dante's mind. 




INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



A,. 

FAOI 

Ajmonnced bj all tbe trumpets of the ekj 43 

As unto tbe bow tbe cord is 45 

An ardent spirit dwells witb Cbrlstian love 5fl 

A nigbt bad passed away among tbe hills 87 

Away and away, o'er tbe deep sounding tide 103 

A ruined city ! In tbe beart 109 

A rock tbere is whose homely front 126 

Art thou tbe same mysterious traveller 135 

A life of struggle, grief, and pain 137 

All day long, witb a vacant stare 151 

Another little wave upon the sea of life 169 

As twilight fades upon the west 170 

Awake thy cloud-harp, angel of tbe rain ! 186 

All in a moment, through the gloom were seen 193 

And thou remembered Sagamore 194 

Admiring Nature in her wildest grace ' . . 195 

As angels sport amid the stars 221 

A mighty and a mingled throng 225 

A father sat by tbe chimney-post 233 

As some fair violet, loveliest of the glade 238 

All nigbt the booming minute-gun 216 

As one without a friend, one summer eve 257 

Among the joys, 'tis one at eve to sail 266 

A little rose bloomed in the way 280 

An easy task it is to tread 286 

A freedome is a nobill thing 325 

And is there care in heaven 326 

And thou hast stolen a jewel. Death ! 352 

A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers 371 

29 (449) 



4,j0 ixdex to fiust lixes. 



Among the beautiful pictures 383 

Abou Ben Adhem — may bis tribe increase 394 

A frag-ment of a rainbow bright 398 

B. 

But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? 01 

Bring flowers, young flowers, for the festal board 121 

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead ! 376 

Between the darli and the daylight 380 

Brealc, break, break (00 

Before the stout harvesters falleth the grain 410 

C. 

Count not thy life by calendars ; for years 68 

Call it not vain ; they do not err 291 

Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas 402 

X). 

Domestic love ! not in proud palace halls ............... 29 

Down to the vale this water steers 78 

Disasters come not singly , 2C1 

Do not crouch to-day, and worship 386 

Do angels wear white dresses, say ? 436 

Electric essence permeates the air 289 

Fleetly hath passed the year; the seasons came . . , 8? 

Found dead ! dead and alone 65 

From harmony, from heavenly harmony 101 

Freshly the cool breath of the coming eve ........ 113 

Father of Light, great God of Heaven 146 

Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine 206 

Fly fro tlie presse, and dwell with sothfastnesse 524 

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree 328 

Friends of faces unknown, and a land 399 

Fair daffodils, we weep to see , , 419 

Gr. 

God bless the little feet that never go astray f)0 

God bless our father land 271 



IXDEX TO FIRST LIXES. 451 



How beautiful Is night 42 

Heaven opened wide her erer-durlng gates 71 

Here's to ttie Hero of Moultrie 132 

His words seemed oracles 171 

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank 290 

Hear the sledges with the bells 388 

How beautiful is the rain 382 

Have you heard the story that gossips tell 432 

Have you not heard the poets tell 442 

I. 

In what rich harmony, what polished lays 22 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 28 

I walked with him one melancholy night 40 

I love my God, my country, kind and kin 62 

I had a dream, which was not all a dream 73 

I came, but she was gone 79 

I met a girl the other day 83 

It is sad to see the light of beauty wane away . . i 86 

Is there, for honest pojrerty 123 

In the west, the weary day 148 

In the little southern parlor of the bouse you may have seen 166 

I arise from dreams of thee 183 

I fill this cup to one made up 184 

I'll woo thee, world, again 187 

It fades ! it shifts ! and appears 190 

I saw her in the festive halls 202 

I saw a pale young orphan boy , 215 

If tnou hast ever felt that all on earth 216 

I stand on the brink of a river 226 

I am not — I cannot be old 231 

I love thy singing, sacred as the sound of hymns 258 

In the quarries should you toil , 259 

I saw her when life's tide was high 2G0 

I have tasted each varied pleasure 262 

I ho!d that Christian grace abounds , 279 

I said to Time, " This venerable pile 281 

If the road grow dark before you reach 297 

I remember, I remember, the house where I was born ........ 303 

It was the autumn of the year , 306 

I saw a little girl 312 

( heard a gentle maiden, in the spring 319 

I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone . . 336 



452 INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



I've wandered east, I've wandered west . 339 

I too am changed — 1 scarce know why 343 

I know not that the men of old . 349 

I leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover 37fi 

It was the schooner Hesperus 412 

Into the sunshine 420 

It is not growing like a tree 423 

I do not own an inch of land 428 

I wandered by the brook-side • 431 

Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one 124 

Xi. 

Look Nature through, tis revolution all , 64 

Like a gale that sighs along 178 

Let Fate do her worst; there are relies of Joy . 214 

Lost ! lost ! lost ! a gem of countless price 245 

Love is too great a happiness 330 

Launch thy bark, mariner 331 

Little thinks in the field, yon red-cloaked clown 384 

Life, we've been long together 422 

Like a blind spinner in the sun 441 

m:. 

Man hath a weary pilgrimage 23 

Minutely trace man's life 39 

My loved, my honored, much respected friend •• 91 

Man knows not love — such lo , e as woman feels 138 

My gun shines in the misty air 229 

Maud Muller on a summer's day 240 

Men of thought ! be up, and stirring 350 

Mother of our own dear mother 354 

My friend, thou sorrowest for thy golden prime , 408 

My little maiden of four years old . 140 

N. 

Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray 27 

Not a drum was beard, not a funeral note 39 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled 159 

Not where the chimes of the Sabbath bell 268 

No specious splendor of this stone 270 

No bird-song floated down the hill 31d 

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea 39C 

Nothing resting in its own completeness 407 



INDEX TO FIRST LINKS. 453 



o. 

O Thoa nnknown, Almighty Cause it 

One year ago — a ringing voice 06 

Once in the flight of ages past 81 

Kature ! all thy seasons please the eye 118 

3ver the river they beckon to me 128 

One heart 's enough for me 13'! 

Dne more unfortunate 139 

saw ye not fair Ines ? 162 

Once upon a midnight dreary 172 

O the long and dreary Winter '. 196 

O that the chemist's magic art 207 

O not by graves should tears be shed 212 

Our life is comely as a whole 239 

O thou vast Ocean ! ever-sounding Sea ! 338 

Oh ! why left I my hame ? 342 

O Mary, go and call the cattle home ...•• 411 

I». 

Prees on I surmount the rocky steeps 69 

Bing, Joyous chords '. — ring out again 67 

Ring out, wi2d bells, to the wild sky 403 

S. 

Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain 25 

She stood like an angel just wandered from heaven SI 

See ! how he strires to rescue from the flood 60 

Stately yon vessel sails adown the tide 77 

Speak gently; in this world of ours 86 

Somewhat back from the village street , Ill 

Stern land ! we love thy woods and rocks 191 

Such let me seem till such I be 204 

5o live, that when thy summons comes to Join 244 

She twirled the string of golden beads 293 

She blossomed in the country 299 

6he comes with fairy footsteps 320 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright 329 

Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell ? 333 

Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! 357 

Strive ; yet I do not promise 404 

Bee, firom this counterfeit of him M< 



4o4 IKDEX TO FIRST LINES. 



T. 

The stars are forth, the moon above the topi ac 

The b'ayets bours trip lightly by 21 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day 30 

The tear down Childhood's cheek that flows 36 

The groves were God's first temples 38 

I'o give a cup of water; yet its draught 41 

The violet loves a sunny bank 70 

Tell me, thou star, whose wings of light 84 

To be, or not to be, that is the question 98 

There are in this rude stunning tide 99 

The trumpet's voice hath roused the land 100 

This ancient silver bowl of mine 104 

The chestnuts shine through the cloven rind 107 

These, as they change. Almighty Father, these 119 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods 122 

Two hundred years '. — two hundred years 133. 

The poet dreamt of Heaven 143 

The pathway of the sinking moon 144 

The soul, secure in her existence, smiles 145 

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean 150 

The night wind with a desolate moan swept by 153 

'Tis summer eve, when heaven's ethereal bow 157 

There, through the long, long summer hours 158 

They grew in beauty side by side 164 

The spark of life is like a spark of fire _ 165 

The melancholy days are come 188 

'Twas a summery day in the last of May 192 

There is a little mystic clock 208 

There's nc t a cheaper thing on earth 213 

The day is done, and the darknes» 223 

There are gains for all our losses 228 

'Tis well to woo, 'tis well to wed 234 

There are moments in life that are never forgot 235 

Three pail s of dimpled arms, as white as snow 237 

Then came the mad retreat ; the whirlwind snows 248 

The shadows lay along Broadway 252 

>Tis early dawn — and all around 254 

The fountains mingle with the river 25fl 

The breeze blew fair, the waving sea 263 

The world, dear John, as the old folks told us 265 

True happiness bad no localities 269 

'Tis not for man to trifle : life Is brief 272 

Tbere la in life no blessing like affection .278 



INDEX TO FIRST LIXES. iiK') 



'Twas in the eunimer time bo sweet 2Sa 

Tliere'8 a little low hut by the river side 287 

Thou hast been where the rocks of coral grow 295 

The ports of death are Bins ; of life, good deeds 298 

'Twas a sunny day, and the morning psalm 300 

The soul of music slumbers in the shell 304 

The old year is passing; away, Maud 303 

There is no charm in time 308 

The feast is o'er ! Now brimming wine 309 

The bell strikes one ; we take no note of time 311 

The old man sat by the chimney side 313 

'Tis past : the iron North has spent his rage 315 

There was a feast that night 318 

There breathes no being but has some pretence 322 

There all the happy souls that ever were 327 

There is a land, of every land the pride 337 

Then out spake brave Horatius 345 

The bonnie, bonnie bairn, sits pokin' in the ase 347 

To bear, to nurse, to rear 378 

Two hands upon the breast 410 

The warm sun is failing 418 

The time for toil has passed, and night has come 424 

This is the ship of pearl which, poets feign 425 

The muse disgusted at an age and clime 427 

The conference-meeting through at last , 438 

Upon thy pictured lineaments I looked 185 

"W. 

Where art thon. Muse, that thou forget'st so long 17 

When I am old — and O how soon 55 

We love the well-beloved place >:... 63 

Who are the nobles of the earth 76 

We watched her breathing through the night 89 

Where, where are all the birds that sang 108 

When my last sunset is under a cloud 131 

We were crowded in the cabin 149 

Wouldet thou live long? The only means are these 161 

Walk with the Beautiful and with the Grand 168 

When all the fiercer passions cease 179 

What Is the bigot's torch the tyrant's chain 205 

When gentle Twilight sits 210 

When Life his lusty course began 21£ 



45G IXDEX TO FIKST LINES. 



We do not make our thoughts ; they gjow In us m 

We call it hallowed ground C3a 

When chill November's surly blast 249 

We live in deeds, not years 253 

Why do I weep ? to leave the vine j 284 

When from the sacred garden driven 302 

What would I have you do ? I'll tell you, kinsman 323 

When Britain first at Heaven's command a"?4 

We met — 'twas In a crowd 344 

When a deed is done for Freedom 363 

When the radiant morn of creation broke 3C9 

When God at first made man 406 

Without haste 1 without rest ! 423 

Y. 

Young bride, — a wreath for thee 120 

Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun 125 

\et sometimes, in the gay and noisy street , 130 

V'ou muBt wake and call me early 273 

f on see the slender spire that peers 285 

youth that pursuest with such eager pac« 382 

f on are old, Father William, the young man cried , il7 







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